Page 66 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons
“Isn’t it?” Marcus shot back, turning his glare on Septimus. “He led the army that trapped her. His father is the monster who started this war. Every bad thing that has happened to Livia since she left the capital can be laid at his feet.”
“Enough,” Tarshi’s voice was a low rumble, cutting through the tension.
"Your noise will bring every predator in these mountains down on us. The mage will hear your yapping from a league away." He pinned Jalend with a look. "You are a soldier. You know tactics. But this is not your war. We are not your men. We are her mates."
The words hung in the cold air, a stark and brutal truth. Jalend flinched as if struck, the fight draining out of him, leaving him looking young and lost.
“We're all tired, we're all worried about Livia, and we're all dealing with... recent losses. Fighting among ourselves won't help anyone. You’re her mate, as much as any of us,” I said to Jalend. “You have every right to be here, to fight for her, whoever you are. But Marcus is right. This is a council of equals now." I could see that Marcus's anger wasn't really about guard duty or chain of command. It was about trust, and that was something my diplomatic training couldn't simply smooth over. Jalend had betrayed us all, whether he meant to or not. His very identity meant trusting him was dangerous. I privately wondered if Livia knew, and if not, how she would react. Our very presence here was all because of her vow to wreak vengeance on the Emperor, and I wondered if his son knew that.
Septimus snorted. “Right then. I’ll take the first watch. With Sirrax. The rest of you can set up camp and try not to murder each other in your sleep.” He grabbed his spear and stalked to the edge of the outcropping, leaving us in a silence thick with tension.
We divided the work without further argument, though the process revealed more about our group dynamics than I was comfortable acknowledging. Marcus took charge of our defensive arrangements with the unconscious authority of a man accustomed to keeping soldiers alive. Tarshi began scouting theimmediate area, moving through the shadows with the silent grace that made him invaluable in hostile territory. I found myself managing our supplies and planning our route, drawing on the organizational skills that had been drilled into me from birth.
Jalend tried to insert himself into every task, offering suggestions and corrections that nobody asked for. The others began working around him rather than with him, a subtle but damning shift that left him increasingly isolated.
"Pack dynamics are inefficient," Sirrax observed as I attempted to distribute our remaining rations fairly. "Too much energy wasted on hierarchy negotiations."
"It's not that simple," I said, though I was beginning to wonder if perhaps it was. "Humans need structure, clear lines of authority. Without it, groups fall apart."
"Dragons establish dominance once," Sirrax replied with characteristic bluntness. "You complicate basic survival with imaginary rules."
The dragon had a point. I was still puzzling over that observation when Marcus returned from his perimeter check, muttering a creative string of profanity under his breath. He had cut his hand on a sharp rock, I realized, watching him examine the shallow wound.
"Fucking stones," he grumbled, then caught sight of Sirrax's suddenly alert expression. "What?"
"Translate," the dragon demanded, his massive head tilting with curiosity. "This 'fucking'—what does it mean?"
Marcus went very still, the way a man does when he realizes he has stepped into something unpleasant. I tried not to smile as I watched him struggle with how to explain profanity to a creature that had no concept of linguistic taboos.
"It's... a strong expression of displeasure," I offered diplomatically. "Humans use certain words to emphasize emotion."
"Ah," Sirrax said with the satisfaction of someone solving a puzzle. "Emphasis-words. I understand."
I had a sinking feeling that he understood rather too well.
My fears were confirmed over the next several hours as Sirrax began enthusiastically incorporating his new vocabulary into every conversation. When Tarshi successfully lit our small fire, the dragon announced that it was "fucking excellent." When I passed him water, he thanked me by saying the liquid was "damn refreshing." A particularly beautiful sunset was described as "shit-pretty," which sent Marcus into paroxysms of barely contained laughter.
"This is completely inappropriate," Jalend complained after Sirrax cheerfully informed him that his "worried face-making is fucking tiresome." "We're supposed to be maintaining military discipline, not teaching crude language to—"
"To our ally who's risking his life to help us find Livia?" I interrupted, surprised by the sharpness in my own voice. "I think we can overlook some colourful language, don't you?"
The reproach hit home, and Jalend subsided into sullen silence. But I noticed that Tarshi was grinning as he settled down beside the fire, and when he thought no one was looking, I saw him lean over to whisper something in Sirrax's ear. The dragon's rumbling laugh suggested that our ranger was enthusiastically expanding the vocabulary lesson in directions that would probably horrify our former commander even more. In fact, the more time Sirrax spend in human form, the more fluent his language became.
As the days wore on, I found myself studying the subtle ways our group was reshaping itself. Marcus and I had fallen into an easy partnership, our long friendship and similar backgroundscausing few problems. I handled the practical aspects of survival while he managed the logistics and planning, and neither of us felt the need to assert dominance over the other.
Tarshi’s easy familiarity with Sirrax suggested a relationship that went deeper than the few days since we'd all been thrown together - there was an understanding between them that spoke of shared secrets and longer acquaintance. And his obvious closeness with Septimus, the quiet intimacy of their glances and subtle touches, created its own small circle of warmth within our larger group.
Jalend was increasingly the odd man out, his attempts to reclaim authority falling flat as the rest of us instinctively began operating as a unit that didn't include him. I felt sorry for him, but as the newcomer to the group, he had to find his place and he wasn’t making it any easier for us to accept him as one of us. Livia would have known what to say, what to do. She had this ability to make anyone feel wanted, needed. Loved. Gods, I missed our woman.
Sirrax observed everything with the detached fascination of a scholar studying an alien culture, offering commentary that was often brutally accurate despite his lack of understanding about human social niceties. It was during one of Sirrax's more perceptive observations in camp one evening that the tension finally began to lift a little.
"When do Marcus and Antonius mate?" the dragon asked with the casual interest of someone inquiring about the weather. "They display clear bonding behaviours."
The silence that followed was so complete I could hear the wind moving through the trees above us. Marcus made a sound like a man choking on his own tongue, his face turning a remarkable shade of red in the firelight. Tarshi looked like he was trying very hard not to burst into laughter. Even Jalend was staring with obvious shock.
"We... what?" Marcus managed to croak.
"Mate," Sirrax repeated patiently. "Reproduce. Your pack behaviours indicate strong pair-bonding. Shared tasks, protective instincts, synchronized movement patterns. When does the physical coupling occur?"
