Page 9 of Dragons' Mate
Dragon kind was dying out, after all. And the situation was dire enough that the only hope left was in superstition and prophecy.
A prophecy that Kit, with her lively brown hair and mind magic instead of air magic, did not fit at all.
“From distant lands, a mortal strays, with locks of white and air that plays,” Tavias uttered under his breath. “Thus rises one that’s strong and true, who’ll conjure life her soul imbued.”
“Her spirit fierce, her power vast, her fate entwined with dragons' past,” Cyril picked up just as quietly. “Their numbers scarce, their hopes forlorn, for generations hatchlings mourn. Until the dragons forge a bond, a unity that grows beyond. With only her shall dragons find, a future thriving and entwined.”
Tavias rubbed his face with his hands, the thought of Kitterny ripping open the unhealed wound inside his heart. “Is it selfish of me to mourn that she doesn’t fit the prophecy, when not fitting it means that she gets to stay safe?” Tavias asked his brother softly enough to not be overheard.
“Yes,” Cyril answered without hesitation. “The trials are nothing but torment and death for most of the humans. The nymph deserves a safer fate than that.”
Tavias nodded his agreement. As much as it hurt to have lost Kit, the important part was that she was safe. Wherever she was. Tavias’s jaw tightened. He’d shaken down half the palace staff for information on the woman’s whereabouts. The stories all matched. The captain of the guard confirmed orders for taking Jared and Yirel off the duty roster for a fortnight; the purser had records of drawing a fair sum of gold at Ettienne’s request; even the kitchens reported packing food. No one knew where Kit was being taken, but everyone agreed that she had left with exactly the sort of provisions one would expect for a one-way journey of the type Ettienne had outlined.
Plus, they’d all felt the temporary pack bond with Kit snapping when she’d left the palace.
“Did you try reaching out to her?” Cyril asked.
Tavias knew he meant with his mind. When they were near, Tavias’s magic could send words into Kit’s mind. “Yes.” He schooled his voice to professionalism. “But the communication had never been two ways. I’d have no way of knowing whether she heard me or not. Hopefully she heard nothing. Leaving was the smart choice for her.”
“Yes.” Cyril sounded as calm and certain as Tavias wished he felt.
“Exactly.” He nodded to himself. It was hard to keep pretending that losing Kit was anything but agony, but it really was what was best for her. If Tavias were a better male, he’d feel guilty that another woman, a spare Ettienne had ensured was available, would take Kitterny’s place. But he didn’t. The woman, Fionna, would serve her purpose and Tavias would do his best to keep her alive. But he didn’t feel anything one way or another about it. Or about her.
Perhaps that too, was for the best. Caring was a liability.
Tavias’s gaze swept over the vaulted ceiling overhead, its sapphire expanse was interspersed with silver celestial symbols that served as reminders of the dragons’ lineage—at least as far as myth was concerned. Tavias highly doubted any of them actually came from a constellation given life. If it were true though, maybe the stars could condescend and make a few more dragons the same way, instead of letting the race dwindle to extinction for a lack of pups.
“Should we inspect the mezzanine?” Cyril asked.
Tavias nodded and headed for the rounded stairs to the second level, which ran the perimeter of the hall, making it a tactically sound vantage point for the guards. The strategically placed archways also provided quick access to the balconies overlooking the palace grounds and allowed for an efficient response to potential threats. This morning, the guards were already on duty though Tavias made a note to exchange some of the younger ones for more seasoned hands.
When it came to security and armies, Tavias felt utterly confident in his skill. The thought of one day taking Ettienne’s throne though sat with him like sour milk.
Pushing away politics, Tavias turned to look down at the great hall, his hands tight around the banister. For anyone watching, he would look to be surveying the security of the dais, the obsidian platform housing the king's throne, and the newly built semi-circular platform for the priests of Orion who’d be accepting the pledge. But that’s not where Tavias’s mind was no matter how hard he tried.
“Did you feel… something?” Tavias asked his twin. “Earlier. In the wee hours past midnight.”
Cyril jerked, spinning around too quickly to be casual. In his blue open tunic, he looked every inch the dragon he was, the true powerful heir to the Massa’eve throne. It had been decades since Tavias had seen Cyril pulsate with power, but Cyril had awoken on the Phoenix. It was difficult to overlook the fact that Cyril’s power and confidence had returned when Kitterny had been with them. More difficult still to watch and worry whether that part of his twin would wither again now.
Cyril cleared his throat, the line of blue scales along his temple shifting toward purple. “I… I had a sudden need to take an ice bath,” he said quietly. “Even after taking care of myself. For a time, it felt like -”
“A frenzy?” Tavias supplied.
“Yes. Except there was no one there.”
“Right.” Tavias pinched the bridge of his nose. “Let’s hope whatever it was only touched us. The last thing we need going into the pledge ball is Hauck rutting with everyone in a nearby tavern.”
“He didn’t,” said Cyril. “He was passed out drunk in his chamber this morning. The staff said he’d not left the entire night.”
“Tavias. Cyril.” Quinton’s low voice sounded just a pace away. That he’d managed to get that close with neither of them noticing was equal part testament to the silver assassin’s skill and reprimand to Tavias and Cyril’s diverted attention.
“Want to tell us where you’ve been?” Tavias asked over his shoulder.
“No,” said Quinton.
Tavias turned toward Quinton, letting his dominance flow through the pack bond. Tavias knew that Quinton had left the palace last night, though no one had actually seen him do so. That wasn’t acceptable. This close to the trials, Quinton needed to fall in line with the pack and stop with his lone dragon shit. “Tell us anyway,” Tavias ordered.
“I had an errand to run.” Quinton sounded bored.
