Page 81 of Blood of Wolves

Náli’s expression locked up into something dark and disbelieving. “What?” he croaked.

“I mean no insult, my lord. It might have even worked on someone else. But you can’t appeal to guilt with a bastard: we’ve never been in charge of anything and there’s no insult we haven’t had hurled at us. We’ve been blamed for everything from our father’s infidelity, to a ruined crop.” He let his grin widen, baring his teeth. “Nice try, Corpse Lord, but there’s no fancy footwork that can help you best me in this arena.”

Náli’s eyes sprang wide. He gaped at him a moment, mouth working silently – then scowled and whirled away to adjust Kat’s girth.

The female drake turned her head to regard him critically – and then the little one came in on Náli’s side, purring in inquiry and nudging at his arm.

“Get away,” Náli hissed, swiping at him, but Valgrind made a sad noise and kept close, nosing at his arm, his hip.

Oliver stepped up on his other side, laying a hand on Kat’s shoulder. “Náli.”

He stood with his fingers hooked in the mounting stirrup, head bent down, pale lashes blinking furiously. “Shut up,” he said through tight-clenched teeth. “Just shut up.”

“No, I won’t. Because you’re very like the fire mountain of your duchy right now: anger and resentment building up, and up, and you’re going to erupt at some point. It’d be better to do it now, in front of me, who doesn’t matter at all, than to do it at Aeres in front of everyone.”

Náli growled, hand spasming on the stirrup.

Oliver risked laying a hand on his shoulder, and felt the tremors rippling through him.

“You’ve carried a heavy burden your whole life, and you’re still young–”

Náli whirled, and smacked his hand away. Eyes bright with unshed tears, lips peeled back in a snarl, his was the face of someone who’d reached the limit of all he could take. Not an eruption, but a collapse.

“What do you know?” he hissed. “You haveno ideawhat it’s like to be me. You couldn’t – how could you – I don’t–”

Valgrind trilled a worried sound, and hooked his head over Náli’s shoulder, long blue tongue snaking out to flick at his jaw.

Náli froze, breathing in quick little puffs that steamed in front of his face, gaze shifting toward the drake. “Why is he doing this? Why won’t heleave me alone?” All the fury had bled out of his voice; his tone was pleading, frantic.

“Because he likes you.”

“Butwhy?”

“Well, when you aren’t intentionally being a pretentious little shit, you’re actually quite likable.”

“What–” Náli scowled, and had the effect ruined by another swipe of Valgrind’s tongue. “Stop that!” He tried to shove the drake’s head away, but only got licked on the hand instead.

Oliver couldn’t suppress a chuckle.

Náli turned his fuming look on him, then. “Call off your stupid dragon.”

“No. That’syourdragon.”

“No, it’s bloody” – Valgrind’s tongue snaked into his ear – “n-eugggrh!”

Oliver laughed – and after another moment’s sputtering, so did Náli.

“Gods,” he groaned, wiping at his face with his sleeve. “I hate this. I hate you, and I hate him–”

“Oh, of course,” Oliver said easily, between chuckles.

Náli sighed, deflating. He finally consented to rub Valgrind behind his horns, and the drake closed his eyes and purred happily. One corner of Náli’s mouth plucked upward in a fleeting smile. A touch of fondness for the over-affectionate dragon. Then it fell away. “I do hate being me, sometimes,” he said in a quiet voice. An admission.

“I’ve never thought being a lord sounded like much fun,” Oliver commiserated.

A flicker of a glance. “Liar.”

“No…well, all right. Life is easier when you’re legitimate. You have all the good silks, and furs, and jewels. People hold you in high regard. But…I had the good silks, and furs. Not so many jewels – those were heirlooms to be passed onto trueborn sons – but I had my own horse, and I never went hungry at mealtimes. I was tutored with my cousins and never denied access to the library. My father was a right prick who didn’t care if I lived or died, but Uncle was kind, at least. He saw that I lived as well and as richly as his children, even if he didn’t dote on me. My aunt, too: she’s not warm, but that’s just her, and nothing to do with my status.

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