by Megan Derr
The piece for Sula would be a man at a table cutting flowers, occasionally pausing to pet a kitten perched on the edge of the table, inspired by a story Temnis had told him.
When the pieces were locked together, the tables became one large one, and the motions changed: the figurine from the first would put a second cup of coffee, placed near the first, on the other side of the table, and the second figurine would place a rose amidst the lilies in the vase.
It would be difficult in the extreme to pull it off, especially all the different movements, but worth it if he succeeded.
Each piece would also have a partial backing of stained glass, though he hadn't settled on patterns for those yet, with flowers, chairs, and more that gave the impression of two friends spending time together in a conservatory.
He'd make all the flowers from silk with gold stems. More silk for the chairs, teak for the table and flower boxes… delicate silver, or maybe mother of pearl, for the sheets of paper…
The soft clearing of a throat made him startle, and Cadmus looked up, heart jumping to see Sula watching him with a fond smile. "I hope I did not ruin your concentration and cost you a project detail."
"No, I'm just tweaking at this point," Cadmus said, setting his papers aside and standing, fussing with his rumpled clothes as he approached the bars. "It's kind of you to come see me."
"I wish I'd been able to do it sooner, but I have been busy gathering testimonials and the like for your hearing. The mayor has ordered it to be done immediately, rather than dragging on for months. I think he wants the matter dealt with and forgotten about as soon as possible."
Cadmus barely heard most of what he said, hung up completely on one word. "Testimonials? What do you mean?"
Sula smiled. "We've been building you a defense, of course. Did you think we wouldn't?" He waved a hand. "A formality really, since you were the victim of a capital offense, but there are some arguing you acted beyond expected dragon behavior, etc., etc. You know how people are. So we've been building you a defense."
Eyes stinging, Cadmus said, "You barely know me. I barely know any of you. I don't understand."
"A dragon with a reputation for kindness and understanding, who even in a hoard-hunting fervor did his best not to hurt anyone who didn't deserve it, merits a good defense. Whether or not I know you well is immaterial. I know you enough. We all do."
Tears broke free. "That is supremely kind of everyone."
"Well, if it makes you feel any better, my motives aren't entirely altruistic," Sula said, stepping in close enough to grip the bars. "I do have my own goals."
Cadmus wiped his face and laughed. "Oh? Trying to get an automaton out of me?"
Sula grinned. "Among other things." The grin softened to a warm smile. "Speaking of your beautiful creations, have you enjoyed the jewels Serena and Temnis have passed along for me?"
"Those were from you? I thought Serena was going around the city haranguing long-suffering jewelers."
Sula laughed, his entire body shaking with it. "I would not put it past her, but no, those jewels are payment to me, from some of my more eccentric and private clients. They buy a lot of flowers and also pay me to maintain private gardens. It's a very small circle, so I have time for the work, and they pay me in jewels, usually one or two a year, depending on the jewel. That star sapphire was payment for two years of work."
"You work for dragons, you must."
"I do," Sula said. "They seem mostly interested in hoarding things they make from the flowers. Where they get the jewels, I don't know, but they seem happy enough to part with them."
Cadmus smiled faintly. "Dragons will part with pieces of their hoard. Sometimes, a piece is hoarded precisely for the purpose of later giving out."
Comprehension filled Sula's eyes, but he only smiled and said, "Harren and I have been talking quite a bit you know. To be honest, we talked after you rightfully stormed off. But there's been no good moment to speak with you."
"Oh?" Cadmus asked, striving to seem casual, even as his heart kicked up and started pounding in his ear. Surely he wouldn't smile like that if they'd talked and decided they didn't need Cadmus. But what else could it be? He just couldn't believe that Harren wouldn't return Sula's affections once he was made aware of them, and by now surely he must be.
"Yes. I also went to see him briefly before I came to see you, and he asked me to pass something along."
"He did? What?"
"You'll have to come closer."
Frowning, Cadmus approached the bars and curled his fingers around them. They were spaced relatively far apart, considering they were for the most dangerous criminals. Not enough for him to get his head through, but nearly.
Sula reached through and dragged him in until his head was pressed again the bars, then leaned even further in himself and managed to press a fleeting, teasing kiss to his lips. Then he drew back, his eyes and smile alight with mischief.
"What—" Cadmus jerked back, staring wide-eyed. "Why did you do that?"
"Because Harren told me to," Sula said as he pulled out his pocket watch. "Alas, now I really must be going; I have appointments with a few more people regarding your trial. But the hearing is tomorrow, so I will see you again soon."
He blew a kiss and with another impish smile, was gone.
Cadmus sat on his cot, utterly baffled. Harren had told Sula to pass along a kiss? What in the world? Why? What were they playing at?
There was no way that kiss meant what he thought. It wasn't possible. Things never worked out so easily or perfectly.
Despair washed over him. So what if they were implying what he thought? He might not be in as much trouble as most in his position, given he was a dragon who'd rampaged over his hoard, but he'd still killed four people and burned down both a house and a ship. At the very least they were likely to banish him from the city for a time. By the time he returned, would Sula and Harren even still care?
The kiss, so sweet and full of impossible promise, suddenly seemed like a cruel taunt. Damn it, he'd ruined everything.
No, Vidner had ruined everything. When Cadmus finally got hold of him, he would treat Vidner like the lindwyrm queen of legend and rip his skin off layer by layer, until he was a pile of heavily-bleeding misery at Cadmus's feet.
His anger was lost to misery again in the next breath, though. Whatever the provocation, even something as cruel as stealing his hoard, Cadmus was responsible for his own actions. Four people were dead because of him, and the only one that might be justified was the man who'd shot him. But even that slimy captain had been guilty of nothing more than being just another thieving harbor rat.
Cadmus plunged himself back into distractions until his evening meal came, followed by the hot bathwater he got daily—instead of the usual warm water every other day, because Serena was determined to make everyone else in the jail hate him and his special treatment. But far be it for him to complain about the perks that came from being friends with the police chief's daughter.
Eventually exhaustion won out, and Cadmus curled up on his lackluster bed and fell into a restless sleep.
*~*~*
He was woken by the sound of something lightly knocking against the bars. He dragged his eyes open, expecting to see a guard with his evening meal, and his heart leapt into his throat when instead he saw Harren. He was as beautiful as ever, smart and distracting in his uniform, but his skin lacked color, there were heavy bags under his eyes, and they were not nearly as bright and lively as they should be.
"Are you all right?" Cadmus asked, scrambling to his feet and hastening over. "You look exhausted."
"It's been a long week, but all to good purpose," Harren replied with a soft smile. "It's good to see you. I wish I was here to visit, instead of on business."
Cadmus finally noticed the others around him—two officers and three people who looked like they worked for the courts, by their clothes and the papers and cases they carried. Off by the doorway were five people who looked like they'd b
een randomly selected off the street—witnesses for something, likely. That wasn't a good sign. "What's going on?"
"Nothing bad, I don't think," Harren replied, drawing himself up and falling wholly into the role of Chief of Police. "Your case has drawn quite a bit of attention, Master Tulari. Many notable names are outraged at what you've suffered, and others are outraged at how you reacted to that suffering. The city is—"
"Wound up," one of the other officers muttered.
Harren sent him a lightly reprimanding look, then said to Cadmus, "Highly invested in your case, to the point that the crown fears matters could get out of hand if this affair continues overlong. But convening a jury of impartial peers would be time consuming at this point, and costly, as they'd have to be drawn from well outside the city. So the crown has recommended that instead of a traditional hearing, your case be settled by a tribunal. But that can only be done with your permission."
"I see," Cadmus replied, staring bemusedly. A tribunal. He hadn't realized he'd caused so much trouble. Tribunals were only called for cases that had no chance of being handled fairly in a traditional court. Usually it was for the excessively violent criminals, those who committed horrific murders on a regular basis, or someone who'd killed a particularly well-known person and similar such. He'd never heard of one being called for a self-defense hearing for the victim of a capital crime.
Instead of a jury and lawyers, three judges examined everything pertaining to the case, asked questions of officials, witnesses, the accused, and anyone else they deemed relevant, and decided the matter themselves. The last tribunal he could remember was about a man who'd burned down his own house, killing his wife, three children, two servants, and a couple of neighbors who'd tried to help, not realizing the source of the fire was arson and the motive selfishness and greed. The city had been enraged to the point of riots because the mother had been a popular, deeply loved opera singer, and the oldest child had only been three. The tribunal had sentenced him to immediate execution.
Most tribunals ended in such decisive, final fashion. They were seldom called for people who didn't do anything wrong, after all.
He'd expected a simple hearing, as usually happened in such cases. Whatever his crimes, he had acted out in retaliation to a gross violation, a form of self-defense. On the other hand, four people hadn't needed to die, even if he only remembered killing the man who'd tried to shoot him.
If the matter was causing that much of a stir in the city, perhaps he was in for more punishment than he'd thought.
"I understand," he finally said, breaking the thick, heavy silence that had filled the room. "I'll sign the papers; it does seem the easiest way to have this matter concluded. I never meant to cause so much trouble."
Harren looked as though there were many things he wanted to say, but he only nodded, stepped back, and motioned the clerks forward. The officers handed the papers off between the clerks and Cadmus, but everyone present seemed to realize it was a formality, because more than once a clerk skipped the officers entirely when handing him a pen or taking back a piece of paper.
All the paperwork, with the original for the court and official copies for half a dozen other offices at least, took nearly two hours to complete, between reading him things, answering questions, signing, having witnesses sign, and so forth.
Eventually everything was concluded though, and the clerks, witnesses, and officers went away. Harren, however, lingered. "I hate this—you on the wrong side of those bars, even though it's mostly for your own protection, all the terrible things being said. It's stupid and wrong."
"Whatever it is or isn't, I did it to myself after a point," Cadmus replied, going to sit on his bed, suddenly too weary to keep standing right there, the bars and so much more keeping them apart. "I am sorry it's affected you so horribly. I never intended to cause you any trouble, and I'm sorry that's what I've done."
"You owe me no apologies," Harren said fiercely. He went to the door of the room, slammed it shut and locked it, then stormed over to the door of Cadmus's cell and unlocked it. Striding inside, he walked over to Cadmus, practically looming, and with a rough noise his mouth crashed down on Cadmus's, the kiss raw and desperate, with an edge to it that could have been anger or fear.
Cadmus clung to him, pulled Harren down to straddle his lap, looping arms around him and kissing back just as fiercely. If this was the last kiss he'd ever get, damn it he was going to make it count.
But this kiss reminded him of another, and when they eventually drew apart, he blurted out, "Why did you tell Sula to pass on a kiss to me?"
"One, I didn't think I'd get a chance to kiss you myself." Harren shifted to sit beside him, stooping to retrieve the keys he must have dropped at some point. "Two… well, most of that discussion should wait until we're all three together, but suffice to say that after you stormed off, Sula had many things to say to me, none of them polite, all of them correct. But in the midst of the tirade he accidentally admitted how he felt about me, and now… now the three of us need to talk and see if perhaps we might all want the same thing."
Cadmus's breath caught. "I—I see. Damn it, why did I have to mess everything up?"
"You didn't mess anything up," Harren replied, and turned his head to kiss Cadmus softly. "Vidner did. Speaking of Vidner…"
"What?" Cadmus asked.
"Nobody wants you told, because they're afraid of how you'll react, but I disagree. He is dead. We had to enlist some unorthodox help to find him—some help you recently introduced me to, and in payment he made a snack of Vidner. I thought you had the right to see him first, but I was overruled by royalty who just wanted him no longer a problem."
"I…" Cadmus frowned, staring at the floor, the weight of Harren's stare pressing down on him. "I admit I have been thinking a lot—perhaps too much—about how I would kill him. But I'm also weary and just want to be home again with my hoard, and I don't really want to do anymore killing. I've killed four people; I don't want to make it five."
Harren slipped an arm around his waist and leaned against him; his warmth, his simple presence, was the most comforting thing Cadmus had enjoyed for days. It nearly set him to tears, but he was tired of crying. Instead, he kissed the top of Harren's head, whispered 'thank you' and simply enjoyed the offered comfort.
He nearly asked about his hoard several times, but if Harren hadn't told him without prompting, then there was something Cadmus probably didn't want to know—that it had all been destroyed or lost, more than likely. He could feel it, faintly, but it was like something was muffling or hiding it, which was another bad sign.
Eventually, someone knocked on the door, in a pattern of three-two-four. Harren heaved a sigh. "My time is up. If I don't go now, we'll get busted by people who would delight in catching me breaking about thirty different laws regarding prisoners. But the tribunal is in three days, and after that hopefully this will all come to a satisfactory conclusion."
Cadmus didn't bother to ask whose definition of 'satisfactory' they would be using, simply enjoyed Harren's thorough kiss goodbye and then settled once more into his drawings until dinner came.
*~*~*
Three more days passed with a tedium that left Cadmus fighting the urge to scream. By the time three police officers came to escort him to the tribunal, he was almost excited because at least it meant he'd no longer be trapped in a room the size of a linen closet.
He shuddered as the manacles were secured around his wrists. The officers all looked apologetic, but that was little comfort as they led him through the jail and into a coach with iron bars in two small windows and a barred door at the back. He climbed inside, gagging at the reek of sweat, urine, and old blood.
An officer climbed in with him, wrinkling his nose and sighing but otherwise not commenting on the atrocious smell. Instead, he said, "We've planned the route to the courthouse meticulously, and we've got barricades and officers stationed all over the city, but it's still probably going to be a difficult ride. Mostly you've
got supporters out there, but there's a few pockets of racists who want to see you strung up for daring to murder humans."
"I see," Cadmus said. "I had no idea there would be so much fallout. I'm so sorry."
"Better you than another man slaughtering his family," the officer said. "My uncle was part of that escort. He never talked about it, no matter how often people harassed him with questions. He would only say he wasn't sorry to see the man die. At least I get a nice dragon." He smiled crookedly. "Now hold steady, and we'll be there in a trice." He winked at the joke, a play on the city's name that made fun of the fact that the city took ages to actually get anything done.
Cadmus smiled wanly, and then they were moving.
Everything started out quietly enough, but the weird, distant rumbling he heard quickly made itself known: voices, hundreds of them, shouting, cheering, bellowing, and cursing. As they turned onto one of the larger city streets, probably necessary because of the size of the coach, the noise turned deafening. Shouts about how dragons shouldn't be allowed to live amongst decent folk; he was a danger to society; a danger to humans. Demands that paranormals receive more rights, better rights. Screams of pain; shouts of rage; police officers bellowing for order.
Cadmus hunched in his seat, eyes tightly closed, and prayed for it all to end quickly.
All of this because of one stupid, selfish bastard who'd stolen his hoard.
A particularly high but incomprehensible shout rose above the din. It was followed by the police officers outside the coach shouting a warning. The officer across from him bellowed, "Get down!" and yanked Cadmus to the floor, covering him as something hit the coach with an echoing boom.
Smoke filled the coach, making the officer cough horrendously. Cadmus transformed enough he could punch a hole through the bottom of the coach, then grabbed the officer and pushed his head into the hole, so he could get some relatively fresh air.
