Page 37 of The War of Four Winters

"I have a way with difficult creatures," I replied, thinking of Ruith with a pang of longing that surprised me with its intensity. “Do you think she knows we’re related?” I asked, scratching Bash under her copper-scaled chin. The dragon made a purring sound that vibrated against my skin.

Tariq shrugged, spilling his drink slightly with the motion. "Who knows? Dragons are mysterious creatures. But I prefer that explanation to the alternative."

"Which is?"

"That you're more charming than I am." He grinned, refilling our cups with yet another spirit, this one an unsettling blue color. "And that, brother mine, is simply impossible."

The blue liquor tasted like a winter storm - cold and sharp on the tongue before blooming into unexpected warmth.

"What happens to Ostovan when Michail falls?" Tariq asked, his voice clearer than it should have been given how much we'd drunk. "Have you thought about it?"

I was slumped in my chair, Bash now curled in my lap like a contented cat. "Someone better needs to rule," I said, the words slightly slurred. "Someone who understands both humans and elves. Someone who won't repeat the cycle of hatred."

"Someone like you?" He leaned forward, golden eyes suddenly sharp despite the drink.

I laughed, the sound bitter even to my own ears. "I've taken another path. I'm Ruith's consort now, committed to bridging our worlds differently."

"So you've abandoned your birthright?" There was no judgment in his tone, only curiosity.

"I've found a different one," I corrected, stroking Bash's scales as I gathered my thoughts. "Ostovan needs someone new. Someone untainted by the past but connected to its future."

Tariq studied me through the haze of alcohol, his expression unreadable.

"What about someone with Ostovan blood but Savarran upbringing?" he asked finally. "Someone who understands court politics but hasn't been poisoned by them? Someone who could bring fresh perspectives while honoring traditions?"

The implication hung in the air between us. I straightened in my chair, trying to focus through the alcoholic fog that clouded my thoughts.

"You?" The possibility had never occurred to me. "You would claim Father's throne?"

Tariq laughed, but it sounded forced. "I'm a pirate, brother. A scoundrel. Hardly royal material."

"You're also the son of King Zygfried," I pointed out. "Educated in the Savarran court, from what you've told me. You understand diplomacy, trade, the balance of power."

"I understand pleasure, profit, and staying one step ahead of those who'd hang me," he corrected, pouring another round of the blue spirit. "Very different skills."

But there was suddenly a thoughtfulness behind the cavalier facade, as though he were turning over a possibility he'd never seriously considered before.

"Perhaps Ostovan needs a scoundrel," I pressed, warming to the idea despite myself. "Someone who sees beyond rigid traditions but understands the value of stability. Someone who could forge new alliances while respecting old bonds."

"I've never wanted a crown," he said finally. "Too heavy, too confining."

"But you've never wanted to see Michail win, either," I countered. "And leaving Ostovan without leadership when he falls means exactly that. His legacy continues through chaos."

"You speak as though his defeat is certain."

"It is." The conviction in my voice surprised even me. "He's already lost. He just doesn't know it yet. The question is what grows from the ashes he leaves behind."

Bash stirred in my lap, perhaps sensing the intensity of the conversation. The dragon's warmth against my thighs was oddly comforting as I waited for Tariq's response.

"I would need support," he said finally, the words careful despite his intoxication. "Diplomatic recognition. Military backing in the transition. Legitimacy can't be claimed solely through bloodright, not after Michail."

My heart raced despite the depressive effects of the alcohol. This was an entirely unexpected possibility, yet one that solved multiple problems at once. Ostovan would have leadership with ties to both its past and potential futures. Ruith would have an ally on the human throne rather than an uncertain vacuum or another potential enemy.

"You'd have it," I promised, aware even through my drunken haze that I was making commitments that exceeded my authority. "Ruith would support a stable transition to a ruler who seeks peace between our peoples."

"And the Savarran connection wouldn't trouble your elven king?" Tariq's tone was skeptical. "My Savarran mother's family holds considerable influence there. New trade routes would inevitably follow."

"All the better," I insisted, leaning forward unsteadily. "New connections, new possibilities."

---