Page 35 of Killian
“I grow weary of the complaints about my appetite and penchant for cakes,” Kaedan groused.
“Perhaps you might try eating just enough for a small warlock like yourself,” Killian remarked, stretching his armsabove his head to release the tension in his muscles as he shifted slightly on the nest of pillows he’d arranged to lounge on.
“Why do you constantly find it necessary to comment upon my stature?” Kaedan asked. “Surely you have noticed that every warlock has less height than your druids. I am near the very top of what can be expected of a warlock in that sense.”
“Bloody hell, you are adept at lying to yourself,” Chander retorted, the amusement in his pewter gaze nearly drowning out the fury and guilt rooted so deeply in his soul Killian worried he might never find happiness again. “Only your mother, her familiar, and your own stand shorter than you.”
“I fear your eyesight may be failing,” Kaedan countered. “Do you wish for spectacles, or should I use some magick to correct your terrible vision?”
Killian opened his mouth to tease Kaedan but gasped instead as a rolled piece of parchment created by his hand popped into view.
“What the bloody hell is that?” Baxter roared, tearing himself away from Benton and moving so swiftly Killian had no chance to grab the correspondence before the sentinel did.
“Read it,” Benton ordered. “If it is a threat, we alert Drystan and Conley posthaste.”
As swiftly as he could, Killian rose and forced his way over so he was less than a foot from Baxter. Unsuccessfully, he tried to retrieve the letter. Both sentinels hated anyone getting near them except each other, but Baxter stood his ground and narrowed his brown gaze at Killian.
“Move away, Killian, and allow me to perform the duties I was resurrected for,” Baxter snarled.
“There is no threat,” Killian retorted. “I made the paper myself, and there is only one person on this planet I gave a stack to.”
A black bubble soon formed around the parchment, forcing Baxter to release it or risk losing his fingers.
“Calm yourself,” Chander told his sentinels. “It is from Killian’s mate.”
Baxter grimaced. “My apologies, Killian. I worry about you and Kaedan as much as I fear for Chander.”
“I know it well. You are a dear friend, but I have no notion of what the content of the letter may be, and I prefer to read it myself privately,” Killian said, the shock of receiving anything from Dravyn settling into his beleaguered mind. After over a hundred and fifty years of silence, what could Dravyn possibly have to say? Why was he writing now? Should it make any difference to Killian that he finally had a word from his mate?
“Go on then,” Kaedan urged. “Take the letter into your bedchamber here and read it. If there is aught we should discuss, return and we’ll aid you however we can.”
Chander released the letter from his sphere and handed it to Killian. But instead of rushing out of the solar, Killian dropped to his arse on his stack of pillows.
“I do not believe I am ready to open it,” Killian murmured.
“That is understandable,” Chander replied.
“Is it?” Killian asked, filled with conflicting emotions. He felt a sense of joy and excitement at hearing from Dravyn, but it was hardly a remedy for the long century and a half of loneliness and rejection. Although he’d often tried in his darkest moments to scrub his mind of the dragon so cautiously tied to his soul, Killian could not forget those deep dark green eyes and his handsome face with its beautiful sprinkling of freckles. “What would you do if you found yourself in my shoes?”
“You do not wear shoes,” Chander answered with a smirk. “But I would hand the paper to Kaedan to burn…without reading a word.”
“Rather cold,” Kaedan said.
“You could destroy it yourself,” Benton insisted.
“Yes, but I pride myself on being a good friend to those around me,” Chander mused. “Kaedan is so enamored of fire, I dare not deprive him of an opportunity to use his magick.”
“Why not ask our Magus Superus?” Baxter asked. “He is a mage of fire.”
“Because the man is a pompous arse,” Kaedan answered before Chander could open his mouth. “Imagine asking me to refer to ignis mages as pyris to reflect the name of his family and castle.”
“You are Grand Warlock and head of The Council, but are you not required to honor the wishes of the other rulers?” Baxter asked.
Kaedan glowered. “Of course, and when they come to me with reasonable requests, I am most amenable. However, I daresay I would be failing in my duty if I set aside thousands of years of tradition to indulge a man far too enamored of himself by changing it as he wishes. The day I have a hoard of angry mages at my castle gates demanding I change them from ignis to pyris, I will consider the demand more worthy of my time. But we can discuss Egann and his delusions later. Killian, what will you do?”
“I know not,” Killian murmured, staring at his name carefully scrawled across the parchment in what he assumed was Dravyn’s hand. “He is my mate. The other half of my soul. And yet…”
“And yet, he has ignored you,” Chander remarked.
