Page 51 of Water Dragon
The panic flooded through him, and he couldn’t contain it. Taking a step away from the bars, getting himself out of the closer proximity of the hateful figure that Sir Patrick represented, he turned to the cell wall. Putting his hands against the rough, dark blue stone, he leaned against it and closed his eyes.
There was water in every part of his home. The ancient river flowing beneath, soaking itself through the soil, into the bedrock and the very foundation of the place. It crept into the stones themselves and was why there were bronze deposits everywhere. The heritage of his House tracing itself through the soul of the castle.
Hear me, Malcolm thought, reaching for it now.Hear me.
The straining sensation began near his hearts, tugging around them, plummeting into his abdomen where it snaked through his stomach and then spread into every limb. He felt as though he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. There was never to be any freedom, never to be any more movement. He was stuck in this state and would so be until the end of his days.
The panic rose again, black like smoke. Choking and blinding.
“I treated you like a brother,” he said, turning his head to look at Sir Patrick. “And my father never did anything to breed this hatred. We have looked after our people—always. Perhaps other kingdoms have had moments where their understanding of the common man’s toil has faltered, but my father has never done anything but seen to the good of his subjects. And you follow someone who speaks against him. Even if you don’t believe in the bloodlines, in our claim to the elemental magic, surely you must grant him the right to the rule based in the merit of his rule alone?”
Sir Patrick’s lip turned up as though his inner dragon was snarling softly. Malcolm turned to face him, his inner dragon responding in kind. There would be dragon fire lighting his irises a pale blue as the same dragon fire began to flow its warning through his veins for the other to try it, try any further provocation, and see how far it would get him.
The castle had a protective spell carved into every corner which meant no shifting was possible within it, but that didn’t mean that the power of his inner dragon was in any way diminished. He might not be able to claim his dragon shape, but fully repressing the power of an inner dragon was not permitted, and so he could still have dragon fire line his veins.
The cave wall lit up from it, the bronze glinting approval, and Malcolm felt a soft lilt within him as he stood straighter, chin lifted, glaring down his opponent without a moment’s faltering.
Sir Patrick had been ready to mirror the challenge, Malcolm had seen it in the way his body language had changed the second Malcolm’s inner dragon made itself known, but now he stood hesitating. No dragon fire tracing his veins, no dragon fire lighting up his eyes.
Finally, Sir Patrick scoffed softly, turned and walked away.
Malcolm stared at the vacant spot he’d left behind.
It felt like a victory.
“Mal,” Iona said.
There was pride in her tone, and he smiled at it, the glow in his veins fading as he approached the bars again. He didn’t care that he couldn’t see her. At least it meant he was closer to her.
He leaned his forehead against the bars.
They were none the wiser nor any closer to a means of escape.
“I think this is when I’m supposed to rescue you,” he said.
“Is that so?” she asked. “How are you meant to do it?”
“Heroically,” he replied. “Wings spread wide, scales catching the sunlight, roar in my throat. That sort of thing.”
“Sounds terribly impressive,” she conceded.
“Thank you, I just now thought of it, actually,” he said.
“Oh, did you? Well done.”
“Thank you, yes, I thought so,” he nodded, a smile splitting his face.
“Merciful mountain,” Ewan muttered.
“What’s that?” Malcolm asked.
“Nothing. I was enjoying listening to this exchange. Please, do continue,” Ewan replied flatly.
“Pardon me, but who asked for your opinion?” Malcolm inquired. Though his tone was light enough, it took too long for Ewan to reply, and Malcolm said, “Hey. It’s not your fault.”
“It is,” Ewan disagreed. “I brought this to your doorstep. I’m sorry. You were in the middle of… Well, I don’t really want the details but safe to say—from listening to the two of you—it seems you have something very special going on here. No, I mean it sincerely. Two people who can make each other grin the way you’re both grinning right now belong together. There should be no friction, no question marks, no… backstabbing.”
He stopped talking and Malcolm got the distinct feeling that his friend was speaking of a certain lady.
