Page 33 of Of Flames and Fallacies

fourteen

A BLUE FIRE

Cole brings dinner and several sets of new clothes later in the day. I can’t help but snicker as he turns away while I change. As if he had never seen me naked before. Such a chivalrous act, for someone I know has a feral drive whenever he lets go of his impossibly tight reins.

He must be taking this ‘being careful’ thing seriously, if he can’t bother even a glance.

Perhaps he knows deep down, like me, he doesn’t have as much self-discipline as he’d like to have. That a simple look would be enough to tear down every boundary he’s trying to set. I suppose it only makes me respect him even more.

Cole isn’t able to stay long. He leaves shortly after, commenting that he’s going to try and convince Marge to give me a few days to ‘settle in’ before apprenticing with her.

His tone hints he’s not too confident.

Half the dinner Cole brought—chicken—went to Daeja.

Every piece I tossed her she swallowed nearly whole. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her eyes so dilated.

With the dwindling daylight and Daeja curled into the corner of my arm and chest, I open my father’s journal.

It’s been about a month since I’ve been here. The military general, Jurrock, appeared for a meeting with the King today. They whispered behind closed doors while a group of us were there to guard the windows. We stood at each arched window encircling the meeting room, staring out to ensure no stray arrows came through the glass. I had never seen, nor heard of an arrow piercing glass and striking someone behind it before. But I didn’t question it. I did as I was told.

We were ordered to not take our eyes off, or shift away from, the window frame. I strained to listen to the King and Jurrock’s conversation. I could only catch words here and there, with dragons and rebels grabbing my attention. It took everything in me to not turn and try to read their lips.

Their conversation paused with the sound of footsteps.

Out of my periphery, I saw the King move toward a guard near the door. Both of the King’s hands cradled a round crimson object. Light reflected off the object in a brilliant sheen. Ever so slowly, I turned my chin toward their direction for a better look.

It looked like…a dragon egg.

The King demanded the guard take the egg to the ‘lock.’

I straightened my view back to the window before the King turned, and we were all ordered out.

What was the King doing with a dragon egg?

A few nights have passed since the King ordered the dragon egg to be stored in the ‘lock.’ I’ve been itching to find out where the lock was and who had access to it. The first step was to find who the guard was. But the information I gathered with onlya second long side-glance wasn’t enough to determine who it was. He had short brown hair. That’s all I knew.

And it didn’t narrow it down much. Most of the men here had short brown hair. I examined each guard’s profile as I passed them in the halls or as we ate. Hoping to think, “Ahh! That was his nose!” or “That was his ear!” But there was nothing. No indication or pull of who it might have been.

But tonight at dinner, the lot of us sat and discussed the incoming shift changes. With the sun setting sooner, and the nights growing longer, we had to transition our stations and hours. One man looked at my lead and asked about the candidates to replace him in the lock. He was taking leave to spend some time with his terminally ill wife.

Many who overheard the conversation watched in confusion. I realized only the handful of us guards who were in the room that day would have ever heard of the ‘lock.’ My lead shook his head silently in warning and shifted the subject.

Got him.

This morning I strained to listen to the two guards whispering next to me at breakfast.

“The King was shouting last night,” one said.

“Okay? So? The King shouts all the time.”

“Yes, but he wasn’t shouting at anything. Anyone. I was stationed outside his door all night. And unless someone scaled the walls to the top without being caught, he was alone.”

A thoughtful silence settled after the word ‘alone.’

“I…even opened the door and peeked at him. His back was to me, but he was in a full blown conversation. There was no one else there.”

I knew the King killed his sister to rule. That in itself took a certain level of insanity. But to be talking to himself?

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