Page 35 of Dragons' Future

“No.” Emric took a breath, schooling his voice. “I came to make you an offer.”

CHAPTER 20

Cyril

Reaching into his robe, Emric pulled out a vile of amber liquid. “This is the antidote to the wyrm’s bane poison coursing through your blood. The ice you feel in your veins, the pain it brings, you are not imagining it. Without this, you’ve hours. Less.”

Cyril's attention narrowed on the vile and he pulled against his restraints, testing for weakness. There was none. Emric spared him a condescending smile before returning his attention to Ettienne.

“Would you like to hear my terms, your majesty?” the priest asked.

“I’d be fascinated. I’ve little else to occupy my time with just now.”

Emric’s face darkened, but he got control of himself quickly. “The antidote is yours. As is allegiance of the Order of Orion. We will stand behind you, use our influence and magic to help you reclaim your throne. And to keep it.”

Cyril’s brows lifted. Of all things Emric could say, this was not even in the realm of anything Cyril had expected.

Ettienne looked unsurprised. Had he seen this coming, or was it an act? If it was the latter, Ettienne was damn good at it, injured or not. “And in return?” the king asked.

“In return, you will repair the citadel and praise the order before all of Massa’eve for its work helping dragonkind. Future elixir competitions may be canceled but you credit the priests’ Equinox Trials with finding a dragon dame. You will then implore the order to protect and raise the female, who is much too precious, fragile,and young to roam free.”

No. Cyril’s nails dug into his skin.

“Is that all?” Ettienne asked mildly.

“You will also invite a priest of the order as an advisor to your council.” Emric swirled the vial in his hand. “That will be especially fortunate since I fear wyrm’s bane cannot be eradicated from your system, only mitigated. You will require ongoing doses—ones that your advisor will of course provide at each meeting.”

Ettienne tilted his head to the side, as if he was actually considering the offer. Cyril had no such patience.

“You want us to hand Kitterny over to you?” Cyril demanded. “That will never happen. You cannot have her. Her or the unborn hatchlings you’ve been tormenting.”

“Are all your sons as slow witted as this one?” Emric asked Ettienne. “I already have Kitterny. And the eggs. They are not up for discussion.”

“Tell him Kitterny and the eggs go free or there is no deal,” Cyril demanded of his father.

Ettienne snorted. “Don’t be daft, Cyril. Emric cannot give up either. The order only controls magic—without a source to generate it to begin with, the priests would be powerless. It is safe to presume they’ve no intention of relinquishing their power source, or the dame whose blood and body is required to maintain it.”

Cyril's fury flared, his muscles straining against his restraints. Of course Ettienne would entertain the notion. The bastard was a king first and foremost. Nothing mattered more than his precious throne. Cyril wasn’t sure who he’d kill first if he got free, Ettienne or Emric, but there would be blood and dead bodies on the floor for certain.

The priest pushed his chest out, like a rooster. “Justice for the past, peace for the future,” he declared. “I ask for nothing we are not owed by your kind. I will give you a few hours to consider my offer.” He placed the amber vile on the floor before exiting the cell. “A token of my good will.”

The moment Emric was out of sight and Cyril’s restraints released, Ettienne sagged against the wall. He looked even more ashen than minutes ago, his breaths gasping and so desperate that Cyril was suddenly unsure his father would survive long enough for them to even have a fight. He grabbed the antidote and shoved it to Ettienne’s lips.

“Drink,” Cyril ordered.

The king took the vile into his fist but didn’t drink it. He took a breath but started coughing before he could speak. Splotches of blood appeared on his sleeve when he was done.

“Why did you not reject the deal then and there?” Cyril demanded. “Don’t tell me you are actually considering letting them have Kitterny.” Because I will kill you if so.

“Why did you turn away from your birthright?” Ettienne whispered, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.

“Really? This is what you want to discuss now?”

Ettienne coughed again, this time not stopping for a solid minute. It didn’t sound good. “That is the only thing we must discuss now.” He gasped and gripped Cyril's forearm. The truth please, Cyril. There is too much at stake for lies.”

Cyril pulled out of his father’s grip and rubbed his face. “Do you recall dispatching me to Ravencrest?”

Ettienne raised a brow. Of course he remembered. It had been the last time Cyril had worn the heir apparent uniform. The mission was straightforward—he was to lead a contingent of warriors to the blight border villages that were being raided by hordes of the blight creatures. Not just the usual piranhas and sclices, but also shrouds of nightwing devouvers—deformed bats the size of horses who killed anything that moved in the night.

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