Page 47 of Phixmery

Zaddro huffs. “I still think we should just burn your seed donor’s castle to the ground.”

I adjust myself in his saddle, my ass feeling a bit numb from being in the seat for nearly two days. “You can’t even breathe flames; you blow fog which just causes people to see shit,” I grumble as we land.

He back-flaps a little harder than necessary. “No, but Voissor can, and I can make them live out some messed-up fantasy while they burn to death.”

“It’s a stone castle,” I state.

His wings fold in, and he turns his long, serpentine neck to stare at me with his giant, slitted green eyes. “Semantics.”

I shake my head and climb out of the saddle. Zaddro straightens his leg out, making a slight ramp for me to run down. My boots hit the grass with a solid thump as I watch Killian and Jesper dismount from their beasts.

“Are you two good from here?” I ask as they get closer.

“Awe, are you worried about us Tal?” Jesper teases.

My arms cross over my chest and I level him with a dry look. “You get yourself into trouble when you’re not even trying. Of course I worry. Killian.” I turn to face him. “Keep him out of trouble, your goal here is to lay low on the slight, very minuscule chance I need you.” I direct that at Jesp.

“I got him,” he grumbles, his gaze snapping to something behind me, but since the dragons aren’t acting up and trying to roast anything, it’s most likely just the owner of the farm.

“Lord Talyn Craven,” Evane Shrillmen huffs as he nears, keeping a watchful eye on the dragons standing fifty feet to my left. “I have word from the others. Those black shadow creatures are being spotted more often. No one knows where they’re coming from. They appear like spirits in the night, cause mass destruction and vanish like nothing was even there. No footprints or anything. They seem to be hitting small villages near the Wraithwater Channel. Fae are getting scared, and it’s causing even more unease with Vathia.” He pauses. “You know, because the Skuggi deal in shadows.”

“We can guess why they would be worried about that, Evane. Thank you for the update.” I pass him a pouch of gold coins. “These two need a place to keep Tisur and Voissor for the night, and they’ll need two steeds. The fastest ones you have available.”

He dips his head low. “Of course. This way. I have my stable hand tacking them up for you since I heard your dragons arrive.”

When they’re a few steps away, I remind them. “Stick with the plan, Jesper.”

He waves me off as he prances after Evane, and Killian’s burly frame follows closely behind. A couple of times when he’s gotten bored, Kill has found Jesper terrorizing—well scamming—patrons of the local taverns with games. He’s a good male, but sometimes I just want to throttle him.

I watch them head into the barn before running back towards Zaddro, using my air to propel me up into his saddle. “Alright, let’s go get this over with,” I murmur.

He takes off into the sky, his midnight-black scales glinting with the lowering sun. Let’s just hope that tonight doesn’t go to shit.

“LORD TALYN, LORD Craven is waiting for you in the dining room,” Milly murmurs quietly.

“Thank you Mil. What kind of mood is he in?” I ask as her two-foot-tall frame scampers around me to lead me to my father.

She tilts her head up, her oversized eyes meeting mine with worry. “A surprisingly good mood, Lord Talyn,” she whispers.

I nod in understanding. “Go back to your duties, Mil. I can see myself to the dining room.”

She tips her head gratefully before scurrying off. Milly is just one of the brownies my father has here. Unfortunately only the Lord Craven of Allondë can free them. They’re basically kept as slaves in this castle. They have meager shelter and food, clothing and essentials, but all they do is work and deal with my father’s temper. Freeing them will be the first thing I do when I take over; it never sat right with me, seeing how he treats them. I made that known as a young fae male, and he would beat me alongside them as punishment for having a heart for the lessers. I do my best to protect them any chance I get, any way I can.

I make my way down the white-washed stone. Golden frames of our ancestors line the halls, with a pretentious red carpet running the entire length of the castle, down every hall, corridor and room. Priceless vases and sculptures are scattered in alcoves and display cases. It screams uptight prick with too much coin and an ego problem.

Taking a deep, centering breath in, I place my hand on the door latch and push, entering a well-lit room. A long table with a red table cloth and enough food to feed a couple squads is spread out on top of it. And just my father sits there, waiting.

“Lord Craven. Thank you for your gracious invitation to join you for dinner,” I murmur as I bend at the waist, staying put until he addresses me.

The silence stretches on until he says, “Come join me. The food is getting cold.”

Straightening, I stride carefully over to my spot, on the opposite side of the long table, taking my seat and carefully placing my arms on the armrests. I don’t eat or move until he gives the go ahead. He watches me carefully, his beady black eyes raking over me as if searching for any sign of deception. Any sign that I’m a traitor to Damorleia. He picks up his utensils and takes the first bite, signaling to me that I may eat as well.

“Tell me,son,why have I received reports of your mate-to-be being disfigured by a null? Where were you? I thought she was in the squad you’re training,” he seethes.

Confusion racks me. Why would this conversation need to be had in person? This could have waited. “We are not to interfere with the trials. Another was on watch while it happened. Lady Gannon has been moved out of the squad because she tried to kill another cadet’s familiar,” I tell him, knowing he’s already heard the report that we carefully crafted to leave out Killian’s name.

His eyes narrow on me. “Her father wants revenge for what was done to his daughter, and I’m obliged to give it to him. Major General Rune is a weak man for not killing the bitch that mutilated Lady Gannon. Maybe it’s time I have him replaced.” He pauses to cut into the slab of pink, seared meat on his plate before continuing. “You will also have your nuptials completed at the end of fourth year, hopefully with an heir on the way before you head to the front lines for your mandatory two years,” he states casually, like we’re speaking about the weather.

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