Page 19 of Killian
“Did Bernal send our chess set?” Drystan asked.
Queen Helen smiled. “Yes, dear. He did. Have no fear, your father will fetch it.”
“Good, for Drys still requires much practice,” Conley replied.
A quarter of an hour later, Killian teleported the two dragons, their sons, and the sentinels back to Castle Leolinnia. It was a shock that King and Queen Beradraconis had immediately forsaken their titles to be with their sons. Killian’s own family would have never done the same. But it was a useful reminder to Killian to focus on Aloisa and to ensure she was given no reason to question her worth or how much he loved her.
Killian could not shake the cold dread wrapped around his heart. It was impossible to know if Dravyn was in danger or how he was faring. His people were now governed by the man responsible for the murders of Conley and Drystan. Only Fate knew what kind of evil would fall upon the dragons now. Killian hated the thought of his mate in danger, but even with his vast and ever-growing sorcery skills, he was powerless to aid Dravyn.
Chapter 7
1382
Castle Draconis
Close to the spot where Dravyn toiled in the dirt, a pair of guards chuckled and gossiped. They were near the bench where the magical paper Killian had given him thirteen years past still lay buried. This part of the garden was forbidden to anyone but Dravyn, and in the morning’s quiet, he could not miss their conversation, though he tried hard not to listen.
Nothing they said ever settled his heart. Sorcerers were blamed for nearly every problem the dragons faced. Those issues not credited to magickind were heaped upon the heads of the D’Vaires. The disappearance of King and Queen Beradraconis over a decade ago was a warning to everyone.
Those with magick could not be trusted. The Council did not bother hiding that Drystan and Conley were alive. So were Aeron and Helen. The former rulers of Court Bera had forsaken their titles to live among those with powers the dragons did not understand. Dravyn could not comprehend magick either. Was it true that Bernal and his ilk had witnessed the sorcerers twisting the minds of people like Aeron and Helen to serve them?
It was difficult for Dravyn to believe. Or perhaps he did not want to accept it as truth. Fate had handed Dravyn’s soul to Killian. Would he someday pay for that by being stripped of his own thoughts and desires? It was a fear that kept him and his dragon from pining about the loss of their other half.
But there were times at night when Dravyn’s body ached and his terror of the next day overcame him. To settle his soul, he would dream of a vast garden and a beautiful dark-haired man with eyes of shifting green and brown. Dravyn remembered clearly the fine-boned features of Killian’s face and his humble confession of being a gardener. Was he truly? Did Fate pair them for having such a thing in common?
It hardly mattered. Dravyn was a prisoner. Fate had not granted the title of Emperor to anyone, so Bernal ruled as he saw fit. His guards were reasonably loyal and willing to spy upon Dravyn and the D’Vaires to find any infraction worthy of facing a lash. Dravyn had not been beaten after the first few months.
One crisp cool morning the castle had shaken. Dravyn soon learned that Aleksander had an ability unknown to dragonkind. As the guards had whipped him, he’d somehow gained an invisible shield that blew his tormentors back and rattled the stones of the large keep. Bernal laid the blame upon the heads of the sorcerers who’d stolen Drystan and Conley’s bodies.
Although he’d ordered Aleksander tortured until he confessed a sorcerer had granted him his unnatural powers, the young King used his newfound talent to keep the men at bay. That was the only day Dravyn had left the garden. He was dragged to the dungeon where Aleksander was kept and stripped of his tunic.
But before a single lash settled against his skin, Aleksander had sacrificed himself to prevent any hurt to the men and women of Court D’Vaire. Dravyn hated to watch hiscousin suffer, and he’d squeezed his eyes shut as Aleksander had gracefully knelt in the dirt to be whipped. They’d shorn off his beautiful black-and-blue locks, and he wore nothing but a dirty pair of torn pants. Somehow, Aleksander had been far more elegant than anyone else present.
Each day afterward, Dravyn’s cousin had submitted to whatever punishment any D’Vaire incurred. Dravyn both loved and hated him for it. He was also in awe of him. Aleksander’s kindness, nobleness, and willingness to martyr himself to spare the D’Vaires even a second of pain was almost unfathomable.
Dravyn worried for Aleksander and what it was costing him. Each day, Dravyn was goaded by chortling fools like the guards currently lounging in his garden. But he never allowed those men to break him. He was much too aware of how easily they would punish Aleksander for it. Dravyn allowed the men to spit on him, steal his tools, and force him to dig with naught but his hands, or crush his precious crops.
Their cruelness helped him. It dulled his emotions and swept away his desire to work hard. Dravyn soon learned that his ability to grow things caused the guards to whisper of sorcery. So, he had to temper his drive to tend to his plants as he’d done at Court Ethelin. He would not see Aleksander punished for it. Nor did Dravyn want to die as each sorcerer the dragons encountered did. They were cut down where they stood.
The dragons considered everyone different from them an enemy. Dravyn could attest that even their own people were easily labeled traitors. His entire court was evidence of that. His sister, Noirin, toiled in the kitchen. Madeline was aiding the blacksmith and crafting the weapons that stilled the hearts of magickind.
Bernal and his son, Zane, had unmatched finery in everything they donned thanks to Larissa’s talent with a needle. Brogan was forced to attend Bernal as his squire. Life at CourtEthelin had not been perfect, but it was far better than their present circumstances. Not that they would be welcome at their old home.
King Boian Ethelindraconis visited Castle Draconis twice a year and cared not that his only son dwelled in a dungeon. He offered no plea to Bernal to release Aleksander, and Dravyn did not know if he visited his child. For Aleksander’s sake, Dravyn hoped his father left him alone. The man was nearly as cruel as Bernal.
“Dravyn,” a guard shouted, startling him.
Knowing better to lift his head or address the man, Dravyn instantly stood and bent his head in deference to the guard.
“It is time for your shift. Get over here so I can remove the manacle.”
Dravyn trudged to the man with the heavy weight of the chain clanking as he walked. He’d long ago adjusted to the way it cut into his skin, and he barely felt the chafed raw skin anymore.
“Fly for as long as you want,” the guard taunted. “But remember, if you do not return, Aleksander and the rest of the D’Vaires will die before sundown.”
It was a perfect way to control the entire court. They faced slaughter if they were selfish enough to want to escape the cruelty of Court Draconis. For Dravyn, it was not a choice. He would fly just long enough to please his beast and stay in sight of the castle. No one would be hurt if he could help it.
High in the sky, his mind would wander and travel back to those dreams of a lovely gardener full of magick Dravyn could not grasp.
