21

I get lost trying to catch up with Meridian and Kehanal. Thankfully they noticed my absence and Kehanal finds me before I wander too far.

"Where did you go?" he asks.

"Exploring," I say vaguely, tugging at the hem of my vest.

"Well, come on. We're late."

When we were allies, Rahzien and I always met out in the open air. Today we're meeting in a huge room, its walls painted a deep charcoal, almost black. Bronze tasseled curtains frame the windows along the north wall, and the opposite wall is plastered with dozens of maps, all different sizes. My gaze lingers on those maps, with their promise of distant lands my clan has never heard of. Dragons can only fly so far without rest, and our oral histories only deal with the nearest continent and its denizens. Humans, with their ships, have journeyed farther than is possible for us, across unknown seas to new continents.

Varex lit up at the thought of incorporating human skills and crafting into our way of life, and Hinarax enjoys human fashions, foods, and entertainment. But as I survey that wall of maps, I realize something about myself—that my interests are broader than a quiet life in a cave on Ouroskelle. That I would like to travel, to explore.

Perhaps meeting Serylla stimulated my taste for adventure and discovery. I've certainly never felt such a wild, sweeping excitement before… as if I might have a life after this nightmare. As if Serylla and I might live to see brilliant, wonderful things together. We could bring the little ones along, undertake a voyage by ship, pause at islands along the way. In dragon form, I could fly above the ship for a full day without tiring, then land for a rest. It could work.

"Your Highness." Meridian clears his throat.

His voice breaks the enchantment of the maps, and when I turn, I see that everyone is seated, looking at me expectantly. Half a dozen human males, seated around the table, watching me. Expecting me to behave as one of them, when I'm far more at home soaring over mountain peaks and whirling in the bright air, high above the earth.

Yes, this is a nightmare. And what makes it worse is that I must speak civilly to the wretch who just hours ago had my darling beaten within an inch of her life. I'm furious at him, and furious at myself for knowing nothing of the incident until it was over.

For a moment, I entertain the thought of transforming into my true shape and blasting them all with avenging fire.

No, not yet. The time will come. Have patience. I hear the admonitions in my brother's voice. My brother, who might be dying from a sinister poison because of the wicked king at the head of the table—the King whose eyes are beginning to narrow with displeasure at my behavior.

I must be strong enough for this. For Serylla's sake.

"My apologies." I walk to the chair Meridian is holding out for me, and I seat myself as smoothly as I can. "My head is aching today. "

"We'll make this quick then," says Rahzien.

"I would be grateful, Your Majesty. My esquire is also feeling poorly and remained in our chambers, so by your leave, my herald will attend me today. I trust him in all things, and so does my royal father."

"Does he indeed?" Rahzien lifts his reddish brows. "I'd heard that the King of Zairos is a cautious man."

"His trust is not easily gained, it's true," I reply. "But my herald has saved not only my life, but the life of the Crown Prince, my eldest brother."

Rahzien nods. "Understood. Your herald is welcome to a seat at your side."

"Thank you, Your Majesty." Meridian bows and sits to my left, propping his walking stick against the table. With a respectful bow, Kehanal withdraws and leaves the room.

"Allow me to introduce some of the lords of Vohrain, my comrades in arms throughout these long weeks of war." Rahzien tells me the name, rank, and home city of each man at the table. I've met a few of them before, during the course of my clan's dealings with Vohrain. But two of them are new to me, including a young, dark-haired man whose right eye is brown while the other is bright green. The green eye has a vertical slitted pupil.

The one who doesn't fit in, the one with the viper's eye. That's what the healer told Serylla. Is this the Royal Poisoner? Rahzien calls him Lord Jaskar, but doesn't say where he's from.

"Now that we're all friends—" Rahzien claps his hands, and servants approach with trays of silver goblets. "Let's drink to the healthy alliance of my empire with your father's kingdom."

It's a calculated move on his part. Celebrating the alliance before we've settled on terms. Comparing his "empire" to my supposed kingdom—a hint of his dominance, a subtle threat. Varex would be better equipped for a diplomatic comeback, whereas all I can do is nod and drink. In reality I have no kingdom, no army, and no resources, so any alliance we forge today is nothing but lies. A fantasy to lull Rahzien into believing his empire has been recognized by at least one nation.

I drain all the liquor in the goblet, despite the warning nudge of Meridian's boot against mine. He's too late to stop me from drinking, but his nudge does remind me of the words he told me to say.

Setting down the goblet, I address Rahzien. "You mentioned gifts, certain things you would appreciate receiving from my father."

"Straight to the point." Rahzien chuckles. "Very well, young prince, we'll speak plainly. I have certain ambitions for my life and my future empire. An early understanding between myself and your family could ensure that Zairos remains an ally of mine, one which enjoys the certain benefits and protections in exchange for…support."

"What kind of support?"

"What are you prepared to offer?"

Before we left our chambers, Meridian advised me to let the King do most of the talking, to force him to delve into specifics so I won't have to, so I counter, "A great king such as yourself must be aware of the type of resources we can offer. Perhaps you could tell me what piques your interest."

Rahzien leans forward, his gaze keen. "Is your father so ready to pay tribute to another ruler?"

"Tribute?" I frown. "What would you do with the bones of another nation's dead?"

A confused silence falls, and the lords glance at each other. Rahzien picks up his goblet and sips, watching me over the rim.

"Your Highness, he is speaking of monetary tribute," Meridian says aside to me. "Tribute of land, resources, soldiers, technology, and workers."

Shit .

I fucked this up. As a dragon, the tribute I'm most familiar with is bone-tribute, the sacred gift of a bone from a deceased dragon.

"I've been reading about the habits of dragons," I say. "I heard you were allied with them, so I thought I should be somewhat familiar with the beasts. Just this morning I was reading a passage about their morbid custom of bone-tribute. The concept was fresh in my mind, so I misunderstood your meaning. My brain, as you know, is a bit muddled of late."

Rahzien quirks an eyebrow. "Are you quite sure you're feeling up to this discussion, Prince?"

"If my lord could have some water," Meridian interposes.

Rahzien gestures to a servant, who hurries to pour a glassful from a pitcher.

I drink a few swallows. "Let's discuss the tribute, then," I continue, in what I hope is a cool, confident tone. "We have the mines of Arnat. Perhaps you would be interested in refined ore?"

The men around the table seem to accept my explanation; they move forward in the discussion without further inquiry. But as they argue back and forth about the benefits of different resources, I sense Rahzien's eyes on my face. When I glance in his direction, he smiles. A broad, friendly, open grin.

I've never distrusted a smile more.

After the tribute debacle, Meridian enters the conversation several times, usually to steer a direct question away from me or to prod at any conflict he can sense among the Vohrainian lords. At long last, we settle on a yearly amount of tribute to be given to Rahzien, in exchange for friendly relations between Zairos and Vohrain. Essentially, Zairos will be paying Vohrain not to conquer them…at least for a few years. We rise from the table with the understanding that I will be writing to my father, the King of Zairos, to gain his blessing upon the agreement.

The other lords rise and begin to drift out of the room, deep in earnest conversation with each other. Lord Jaskar, with the viper's eye, lurks at the fringes of the group, addressing no one. I'm about to head toward him and strike up a conversation when Rahzien claps a huge hand on my shoulder.

It's the closest I've been to him. The first time he has ever touched me. The same hand clasping my shoulder has touched Serylla—cupped her chin, seized her hair… I grit my teeth, fighting to keep flames from quivering visibly beneath my skin.

"Well done, young prince," Rahzien says jovially. "You're a credit to your kingdom."

I'm not sure why he keeps calling me "young prince." He can't be more than a few years older than I am. Perhaps this, too, is a way of putting down others, unsettling them. Asserting his dominance, once again.

"Thank you, Your Majesty." The heat from the liquor burns in my brain, making it difficult to keep my tone and expression under control.

Rahzien peers at me. "You seem distressed."

"Not at all. It's only the pain in my head."

"Right. Your head injury. How did it happen again?"

The wine blends with my suppressed fire and churns through my gut, a roiling inferno so fierce I can barely think. "A banister was blown apart by cannon fire." Is that the right word? Banister? "And a piece of it struck me."

"Struck your esquire, too," says Rahzien sympathetically, still looking deep into my eyes. "You said he's feeling unwell."

"Yes."

"I'd be happy to send my healer, Lady Cathrain, to look at you both. In fact, I must insist on it."

"I'd hate to disturb my esquire while he's resting," I object.

"Of course, of course. Then we'll have her take a look at you. Sometimes if the injury is too old, she can't help, but there's no harm in asking, is there?"

"I… suppose not." I want to glance in Meridian's direction to see how he feels about this turn of events, but I suspect that br eaking eye contact with Rahzien and looking to my "herald" for approval would only raise suspicion.

"There's a parlor adjoining this meeting room," says Rahzien. "I'll call for the healer, and she'll come to you there. Meanwhile if you need anything—tea, water, more wine—let one of the servants know, and they'll fetch it."

He ushers Meridian and me into a shadowed parlor clad in furnishings of dark green and deep purple, then closes the door. The only light comes from a gap between the velvety cloths draping the windows.

Oddly enough I feel rather at home in the space. It's peacefully gloomy, and the rich colors remind me of a shady forest or a quiet cave. Still, the way Rahzien shut us in here is odd.

"Why do I feel as if we've been imprisoned?" I mutter.

"Because we have." Meridian throws himself onto a long piece of furniture—a sofa, I think, or perhaps a couch. Too many terms, too many new objects, all swimming around in my head.

"I wonder if the healer will be able to tell what you are," Meridian muses, his frown deepening. "I suppose we'll know soon enough. Can't be helped now. If we refuse the healer's attention it will look much too suspicious. We've bared our asses, and must endure the paddle."

"What makes me fucking furious is that I've lost the chance to question that lord, the one with the viper's eye," I mumble.

"Viper's eye?" Meridian quirks a brow, so I tell him, in low tones, what Serylla said to me in the alcove.

"So that's where you went." He smirks. "Never fear, Prince. When we're done here, I can put some feelers out among the guards and servants, find out who he is and how we can discover more about him. Leave it to me."

I choose a chair and sit down, but it's far softer than I expected, and I sink into it deeply and suddenly.

Meridian smirks at me. "Comfortable? "

I speak low, even though we're alone. "This chair is like a voratrice throat. Sucks you right in."

"I don't know what that is."

"Perhaps you'll visit Ouroskelle sometime and find out." I sigh, yielding to the plush cushioned depths of the chair. "I fucked this up, didn't I?"

Meridian pries the lids of his right eye open and adjusts the glass orb in the socket. He blinks a few times, then focuses on me.

"Yes, you fucked up," he says in an undertone. "But I don't think Rahzien suspects the truth. How could he? I would have thought it impossible had I not seen it with my own eyes. If anything, he'll suspect you, Prince Gildas, of hiding your true intentions—perhaps being a spy your father sent, with no true intentions of creating an alliance."

"And how do you think he'd react to that?"

Meridian shrugs. "Who knows the mind of a king?"

"You seem to understand the behavior of all kinds of humans."

"Why, thank you. It's part of being an excellent thief, pickpocket, and con artist. Understanding your mark. Knowing how they'll react to distractions or stimuli. Anticipating wants and needs. All part of the game."

"And Hinarax?" I ask the question in spite of myself, out of a protective impulse. "Is he part of your game?"

The rogue's cocky smile fades. "That's between him and me."

"I'm his prince," I reply. "His well-being is my responsibility."

Meridian puckers his lips and looks away. I expect him to argue the point or ignore me, but he says, "Hinarax and I have enjoyed our trysts, our dances, and our conversations. I hope to see him again. If I don't, life goes on." Something hard and bitter edges his light tone. "I've parted ways with plenty of people I cared for. Few relationships last, and the ones that do, change. They morph into something unrecognizable. When that happens, it's best to move on."

"What about accepting the change?" I ask. "Adapting and making the best of the new reality?"

"With life events, maybe. But I'm talking about people. When people change, you'd best cut the cords and start over elsewhere. Otherwise you're asking for pain. Me, I never stay in one place or with one group very long. The people I'm with now, I haven't known for more than a few months—some for mere weeks or days. I trust them to a point—not beyond it. And I'm always ready to cut ties and strike out alone at a moment's notice. Travel light, stay flexible. Keep your wits about you. That's how to survive as a human. If people don't know where your heart is, they can't stab it. No roots, no ruin."

I don't reply at once, and when I do, I speak in slow, measured tones, heavy with the weight of my words. "On Ouroskelle, we believe in bones. The bones of our ancestors built our island, and the bones of our loved ones continue to build it to this day. The exchange of bone-tribute after a dragon's death, and the laying of their bones upon the fields—those are meaningful rituals for us. They connect our lives to all that is past, and make us a part of all that will come. We are creatures of the air, yes… but land, home, family, and stability are important to us."

Meridian watches me in the half-light, the thin fingers of his right hand playing over the head of his staff.

"Every dragon I know has changed." I look down at my hands, my human fingers. Short nails, not claws. "We've been altered externally, of course, but who we are is changing as well. I believe that if my clan survived the war, the loss of our females, and the great transformation, we can survive anything, even Rahzien's poison. The evolution of our minds and hearts will not tear us apart. We will not flee from each other. We are family, a bond that is bone-deep, unchanging, even after our spirits ascend."

The rebel leader looks away, his scarred mouth twitching, and not with humor this time. "Fuck, that's beautiful," he mutters hoarsely. "But for someone like me, that sort of family isn't in the cards, mate."

"You never know. I never thought I would be sitting here, in a palace parlor, talking to a man like you."

"A thief?"

"A friend."

He shifts in his seat, as if the word makes him uncomfortable. Truth be told, I'm not so comfortable with it myself, but the respect and warmth I feel for him can be described in no other way.

The door opens, admitting a plump, pleasant-looking woman with rosy cheeks and bright eyes that crinkle at the corners when she smiles. The garment around her shoulders is decorated with colorful flowers, much like the blooming trees around the hot springs on Ouroskelle. She wears a dark brown dress, and a woven bag hangs at her hip, its strap crossing her body.

"I'm Lady Cathrain. Knocked your head, have you?" she says cheerfully. "Let's have a look, then. No, no, don't get up, boys. Stay comfortable. I'll just check the Prince's pate."

Her fingertips sink into my hair and press against my skull in various places. "I don't feel any surface fractures. Let's go a bit deeper."

"There's really no need." I begin to rise, but she clucks her tongue and pushes against my shoulder. "Now, now, be a good prince. Hold still."

Her fingers travel the entire surface of my skull, including my temples, the tender spots beneath my ears, and the corners of my lower jaw. Barely breathing, I wait for her to speak .

"Too much tension," she says at last. "That's the only thing physically wrong with you." She takes her hands from my hair. "Brain injuries can be tricky things, difficult for healers to detect. And it's always possible that you're suffering from a sickness you picked up during your voyage. Let's see if I missed anything."

Lady Cathrain picks up my hand and pricks the tip of my index finger with a tiny tubular needle. Blood blooms from the spot, and the little tube fills with a few scarlet drops. She holds it up to a ray of light from the window.

"The color of your blood looks good. Open up, there's a good lad." She sets the tube aside and taps my lips with a small, flat stick.

I glance sidelong at Meridian. He doesn't look happy, but he nods, so I open my mouth. The healer presses the stick down on my tongue, then sweeps it along the inside of my cheeks.

"Well, Your Highness, you seem to be in excellent health," she says. "Any lingering memory issues or pain should clear up in a couple of days. But you'll receive the best of care as long as you're visiting us. The servants can bring whatever you need, and they know where to find me if your symptoms grow worse." Her eyes fix on mine, warm and earnest, and she says, more quietly, "If you're in any trouble, please know that I keep an open mind and an open door to all those who need mending."

With a polite curtsy, she gathers her things and bustles out of the room.

"Well, that's over," mutters Meridian, swinging his legs off the sofa. "Went better than I expected, honestly."

I'm hardly listening, because the healer's words gave me an idea. "Can we order anything we want from the palace kitchens?"

"I suppose so. That's what the servants said when they showed us our suite. "

"Could I order something to be sent to a different room? One that isn't mine?"

"You could try." He shrugs.

I heave myself out of the deep chair. "Soon I'll need to switch forms for another few hours, but before that, there's something I want to do."