Page 17 of Killian
“Not as yet, but it has only been a fortnight. King and Queen Beradraconis may have news from Castle Draconis and the successor to Drystan and Conley. I cannot and will not barrage them with questions in their time of grief, but they may be more willing to have speech with us after they learn that their son and his mate still live.”
The door to the meeting room for The Council swung open, and the two new Reverent Knights stalked in. Saura and T’Eirick had insisted on showing them to a bedchamber and giving a quick tour of the castle they would call home until permanent arrangements could be made for them to live on their own.
“We have discussed it, and we wish to go with you,” Drystan said. “They are our parents, and they deserve the right to see with their eyes that we are hale and whole.”
“Your ability to teleport will not work just yet; I slowed everything down purposefully with your stasis,” Chander replied. “I did not want you overwhelmed. It will take a few days for your body to catch up to everything you have gained in your resurrection spell.”
“Warlocks and druids can teleport people,” Conley argued. “You granted us knowledge of all your people.”
“I fear the sight of you walking around when you are supposed to be dead will be a fright from which your parents may not recover,” Killian commented. “Allow me to speak with them first, then I will gladly return for you.”
“Thank you,” Drystan said with a faint smile.
“Do you have a letter for us to carry to your family?” Benton asked.
“No,” Conley replied. “We would rather speak to them in person.”
“Off with you three now before Egidius runs in worried about the fate of The Council and demands we discuss the idea of traveling to a dragon court for hours to decide if it is wise,” Chander remarked.
Since Dra’Kaedan had already aided Killian by lifting the memory of Drystan’s childhood home, he had naught to do but focus on the image of Queen Beradraconis’s solar to travel. With barely a wisp of his magick, Killian and the two hooded sentinels were in a castle teeming with dragons.
Across the room—which was lit up from the sun thanks to a multitude of brightly colored windows—a woman shrieked and stood. Her needlepoint fell to the floor with a soft thud, and she lifted a hand to her chest.
“Queen Helen?” Killian asked the tall wide-eyed woman.
She nodded as her gaze skidded to the two sentinels.
“Please accept our apologies for intruding upon your solar. I am Killian the Dwyer. I am here on behalf of The Council.”
“Wait,” Queen Helen said. “You are a sorcerer. Are you among the people who stole the bodies of my only children?”
Before Killian could respond, she lifted her head and shouted for her other half.
“Your Highness, please—”
That was all Killian managed. The door slammed open, and a dark-haired man resembling Drystan filled the opening with sword in hand.
“Get away from my mate,” the man growled, stepping into the space and putting himself between Killian and Queen Helen.
“They are sorcerers,” she told King Aeron, whose expression quickly turned darker.
“What have you done with my sons?” King Aeron demanded, lifting his sword so it rested precariously close to the front of Killian’s chest.
“Shite,” Killian muttered as his two companions melded into the shadows, disappearing from view. They moved so fast, Killian could barely track their movements, but he easily heard the gasp from King Aeron as he was effectively disarmed.
The two sentinels stepped back so they were once again on either side of Killian, and Baxter aimed King Aeron’s blade at the wooden floor.
“My apologies, Your Highness, but I cannot allow you to threaten the life of Killian the Dwyer. He is the leader of his people, and they need him,” Baxter drawled. “We mean you no harm.”
King Aeron swallowed thickly and pulled a now quietly crying Queen Helen into his arms. “Why are you here? Have you not done enough? The Imperial Duke has sent word of your depraved theft of my sons. In our grief, you have stolen even our ability to light their pyres properly. What use do you have of their bodies? I beg of you to think about what we have lost and give us what you so brazenly stole from Castle Draconis.”
“Your Highnesses, I know dragons know naught of magick. Please allow me to explain. My companions are a mated pair like you. They go by the names Baxter and Benton. Their race is believed to be nearly fourteen hundred years old. But they were not born. Like your sons, they once died,” Killian explained quietly to the weeping couple. “Yes, we took the bodies of your sons, but not because we wished to desecrate them or deepen the burden of your grief. Among our magickind are necromancers. They can breathe life into souls who have already passed beyond the veil. Your sons live again. Although they areno longer dragons, they lead a new race. A people called fallen knights. Reverent Knights Drystan and Conley Gylde have sworn to protect The Council. But before they start their duties, they wished for one thing—for you to know that their journey is not over.”
“If anything…if anything at all you are saying is true…where are my sons? Prove your words,” Queen Helen demanded.
“If you will grant me permission to leave and return, I will bring your sons to you,” Killian vowed.
“I do not believe anyone has the power to overcome death, but I will call your bluff,” King Aeron stated, his jaw flexing. “If you lack the ability to bring my sons here, do not return.”
