Fire of Stars and Dragons

by Melissa Petreshock

  Bickering regarding Cait’s acceptance, or rather, her refusal of Corrin’s gift, seems to be the top priority topic of this phone conversation in Oliver’s mind, while I occupy myself searching for new origami designs on my Sky Book, and Claaron tries to remain quiet so as not to give away his presence in the room. This is a difficult task considering I’m again using the speakerphone on my GoSky, and House of Graywyne’s mischievous dragon insists on tossing Wednesday night’s disregarded attempts at origami at me.

  I scowl at him. He hits me square in the eye with the misshapen dragon’s head.

  “Do you think perhaps she should be educated on proper conduct before attending tonight’s gala affair, perchance lessons of conduct becoming a lady are lost to her since Sir Greyson’s death?”

  “Oliver, I do not…”

  Claaron and I exchange glares as he interrupts. “No, no. You are not suited for the job by any means. If you permit me, it would be for the best if I discussed the matter with her. We both know…”

  “Oliver,” I growl, “you are not bothering Cait with your inane lessons on grace and civility. Her distaste for Corrin’s gift had nothing to do with a lack of etiquette on her part. Perhaps you should school your beloved terror of a boy in methods of courting a woman with a measure of due propriety.”

  The line falls silent. Claaron doubles over in his chair, and despite his previous noise management, his effort fails, releasing a howling burst of laughter. “Claaron is there, isn’t he?” My house brother’s clipped monotone does nothing in alleviating Claaron’s amusement.

  “Yes.”

  “You failed to mention that.”

  I look across the desk at my cohort who simply smirks. “I was led to believe we were discussing matters of security for tonight. As the second-in-command of Cait’s security detail, I require Claaron’s presence.”

  “Second-in-command.” There’s a quiet ‘humph’ of disapproval, which Claaron shakes off with a laugh, never caring for Oliver’s opinion. “He intends to stay, I take it. Clifford told me of his own intentions. You will reorganize your positions accordingly, then.”

  “He told you?” Clifford’s skill as a protector fails not, but his fear of Oliver’s judgment, which is often harsh and too freely given, knows no bounds. “As thankful as I am he discussed this with you, no, I will not reorganize anything. Cait is my ward. Claaron committed to us first. The position is rightfully his, and I trust him with both her life and my own. He has my full confidence in this.”

  “Clifford said you did not know if he would stay. He has not committed himself fully, but our brother will do so. You know this to be true, Theo.”

  “I pledged my loyalty to Cait upon my return, Oliver. Say what you will, but after much consideration, I know where I belong.” Claaron delivers his statement with the impressive and commanding demeanor he possesses. “Nothing will prevent me from fulfilling my service to her.”

  “As grand as the protection of High Oracles may be, Claaron, I do believe a ward of this caliber calls for a house above Graywyne. The House of Pendragon has always held the Goddess’ favor for wards with the greatest destinies,” he replies more than a tad snidely. “We are the First House with good reason.”

  “For fuck’s sake, Oliver, have you gotten laid since that courtesan at Camelot?” Claaron snaps back. “Merlin always said you were an egomaniac. You’re lucky I didn’t let him turn you into the salamander he wanted to, but dear Goddess, you’re a bigger prick now. And believe me, you cannot imagine how relieved I was when Arthur finally kicked it, relieving you of your duties, so I didn’t have to deal with you back then.”

  “Theo, take me off the speaker now.” Patience lost, Oliver yells, and I pick up the GoSky, tapping the screen.

  “Calm down, brother.” Standing from his chair, Claaron points to the phone, makes an undignified hand gesture, then walks out of my office. On the line, low growling and intermittent mumbling in Penfaeryn tells me Oliver’s mood. Even with his tendency toward such highhanded behavior, it takes a great deal for him to speak the original Fae dialect. “Certainly there is more than Claaron’s aggravation causing such a reaction, Oliver. Tell me of it.”

  He is quiet for some time. “Liam feels the draw to her as well. Clifford only admitted to his own intentions when Liam declared his wavering loyalties. They agree to remain through the gala this evening, though they will not fight against either of you. Both are willing to keep the peace as best they can.” Falling silent again for a moment, he adds, “They feel the necessity to ensure no harm comes to Cait at Corrin’s hands.”

  “And what of you, Oliver? How long can this go on before you see…” I stop myself, not wanting to react too harshly toward my brother. “Will you remain with him, such persistent incorrigible behavior as he displays?”

  “I do not know, Theo.” His voice fallen low, and despair weighs heavy in those words. “Their willingness to attempt to control the king, if nothing else, helps greatly… I suppose. Accepting what they offer when they are no longer beholden to the monarchy is the only choice I have left.”

  “Yet you will remain with him?” I must ask, unable to see his destiny, his path or his loyalties.

  “Brother… I fear Corrin is unfit, incapable of fulfilling the Oracle’s prophecy while bearing the responsibility and power bestowed upon him by his own destiny. But how can I simply leave him, saying he has gone too far, his actions too reprehensible?”

  “Oliver, we both know that at times, seemingly unfulfilled destinies are the wards’ purposes, catalysts to larger events. New eras do not rise without the old falling. How many times have we seen this?” I am keenly aware how difficult this must be for him, seeing his own ward as the end, and mine as the beginning. He has always been the strongest among our house, the leader among our brothers, and the protector of kings well before Corrin’s time.

  There’s a small sigh of frustration and the sound of Oliver agitatedly rubbing a hand over his neatly trimmed beard. “Then have I failed or succeeded in my duties to the king, Theo?”

  “As Corrin’s protector, you performed your duties with nobility and valiance. Your actions held no dishonor. I cannot pass judgment on their success or failure as only the Goddess knows the desired outcome.”

  With the call coming to a close, Claaron returns, slipping into the leather chair across from me, his expression rather severe. I tie up a few details regarding security for the night, our arrival, formalities and the like, then end the conversation. Leaning back and tossing the mobile onto the desk, I pick a crumpled paper rose off my lap and throw it at my brother. “Do not let him get to you. It does not matter if you never protected a ward other than an Oracle. They hold great wisdom and knowledge. Undoubtedly, your guidance and experience will be of tremendous use to Cait throughout her life.”

  He stretches out in the chair, kicking his feet up, pushing my bonsai tree over, and resting them on the edge of the large desk. “And so it will be of use to you. I am neither blind nor ignorant, Theo. What transpired between the two of you, the distance you’re creating now… don’t think I am not aware of what Dante offers, and of what you fear. You forget, the choice is hers, and yet it seems you continue insisting upon making it for her.”

  “No.” Loving Cait and wanting her does not make having her right. “My influence skews her perspective, prevents her ability to see the paths available.”

  Nodding, he gives a derisive laugh. “I see. Well, lie to yourself if you wish, but do not lie to me, Theo. Cait has not announced her final decision, but she has committed her heart to you more so than to anyone else by giving herself to you in such an intimate way. You do not think her a whore, do you?”

  I’m over the desk, hand at his throat, chair toppled to the floor, Claaron flat on his back with a maniacal grin on his face. Far too angered, my breaths ragged and furious, my body trembles, and a few words grind through clenched teeth in barely more than a growl. “Never. Say. That.”

  Claaron pushes m
e away. Ashamed, I let him, falling to sit on the bamboo floor, head resting on my knees. “Just as I said, Theo. Lie to yourself if you wish. Do not lie to me. I am loyal to Cait, will protect her with my own life, yet for mere words you attack me. Yes. It is her choice, but do not pretend you hold nothing at stake in her decision.”

  *Corrin*

  Theo and Claaron stand guard, Dante escorting Cait into our suite of the Marriott at Copley Place just as Father and I finish a video conference with Uncle Reilly in London. With great difficulty, I try to ignore the way she holds Dante’s arm, the adoring way he looks at her. It is a painful truth to witness, how he does indeed love her. The sight of my former King’s Guard dragon and his Graywyne brother wearing silver Goddess triquertas on the lapels of their tuxedos, a Dracopraesi symbol of loyalty to a female ward, only furthers my agitation.

  As to be expected, Runa doesn’t wait on my father for polite formalities and skips her jubilant blond self over, greeting Cait, always thrilled to meet new people, Evan joining her. “Oh, my goodness, you must be Cait! Aren’t you just precious?” Runa pulls her into a hug, and the poor girl looks as though my dear sister may as well have bitten her. Perhaps I should have given warning that my own actions may cause Cait to shy away from us.

  “Sorry, Cait. We didn’t have the usual introductions earlier, though perhaps you recall our brief encounter last year when you were with your uncle…” My brother waves off his errant comment, worry in his eyes for fear of upsetting her, of talking of the past and Sir Greyson. “I’m Corrin’s brother, Evan Gilroy, and this is my wife, Runa. She’s a tad excited at the thought of another woman joining, and rather anxious to meet you since I told her the news.”

  “The news?” Cait casts a dark glare in my direction.

  Evan wrings his hands, anxiety pulling a false smile taut across his face. “Yes. I perhaps told my wife of Corrin’s intent to marry you.” His weak explanation tumbles out. “Regardless, should you choose our grandfather, you would still be family.”

  Cait bites her lip, cheeks dimpling as she fights the grin spreading, but Dante grimaces. “Countless times I politely request you do not refer to me as such, yet you continue to persist,” he says. Yet another admonishment falls on ears unwilling to hear. “Forgive their overbearing exuberance, Caitriona; however, Evan’s statement is not so far reaching. Marrying me brings you into the family to whom I lay some measure of claim: Cedric, Evan, and Runa.” Dante greets Runa with a kiss on the cheek before his tone turns dismissive. “And Corrin, of course.”

  I do not fail noticing the small expression of disappointment crossing her features. “Your family.” She speaks in a bare whisper. “Oh. Of course, family.”

  A low growl slips from Theo, and in a moment, Oliver is at my side, returning from the bedroom where he disappeared earlier to make a private phone call. As if responding to her dragon’s reaction, Dante turns to Cait, his arm snaking around her waist, pulling her in closer. “My love, you did not misunderstand. I meant what I said.” His voice takes on a gentle tone I’ve never heard from him, such a depth in its caring, and genuine in its soft, loving nature.

  And I hate it. I despise every touch, every look, every hint of connection between them.

  “Caitriona, you will carry children of our own flesh and blood, and bring them into this world just as any mother would.”

  Oliver puts a hand on my shoulder. “Pull yourself together, Corrin. Remain calm.” Commanding, low, and even, his voice removes my attention from Dante and Cait.

  “It is not yet decided, son,” Father reassures. “We discussed this. She agreed to give you due consideration.”

  Due consideration.

  My father believes this acceptable, but I need more from Cait. I want more from her. I want her feelings to be as real, as genuine as mine have grown.

  Evan glances to me, gesturing with a minute shake of his head, unsure what to do, how to proceed given the situation, and I walk over, facing Cait despite the disagreeable growls from her dragon guardians, growls well below a range human ears hear. With encouragement, my brother nods to me, knowing the difficulty I find in displaying the emotions stirred by Cait, desires fueling a greater loss of control than I already suffer.

  I reach for her hand, given with hesitance, allowing me to place a tender kiss there, a courteous gesture, nothing meaningful on her part necessarily, or so I attempt to convince myself. “It is lovely to see you again… under better circumstances, milady. I apologize for my actions, and beg your forgiveness.” Her eyes lock onto mine. There is a sharpness to them, a warning, yet somewhere within their depths, the same concern from yesterday, the same kindness.

  “Begging is a good start.” Tone as sharp as her eyes, she speaks much like the woman my father warned me he witnessed earlier today. “Not trying to kill me would be a great way to continue. Let’s work our way from there.”

  “Perhaps you do not believe my sentiments genuine, but I swear to you. Indeed they are, Cait. I meant each word, both those written before and spoken here.” Biting back commentary on her refusal to accept my gift, I work hard to follow Oliver’s advice, focusing on her approval of the rest. “Did you find a good place to display the flowers I sent?”

  She raises an eyebrow, matching Dante’s ‘have you gone bloody mad’ look tit-for-tat. As Cait glances to Evan and Runa, they give her encouraging smiles that I hope help my cause. “Yes, there’s a lovely cabinet by the windows Dante says he usually uses for floral bouquets, so we put them on it.”

  My father’s creator smiles like the cat who ate the canary and holds Cait close, rearranging his features to a rather blasé expression when she looks at him. “They complement it quite well, Corrin. You do recall the Ming dynasty piece I brought back from the Shanxi province, don’t you?”

  “Your gown is beautiful, Cait,” Runa interrupts as he toys with me, aware of his appearance in my office this morning. My brother keeps little from his wife. “The cut suits you perfectly, and those blue topaz are stunning.”

  “Not as stunning as diamonds from Tiffany’s.” I mean the remark kept within my head, but ignoring her impertinence toward my gift is impossible, and I cannot remain quiet.

  With an angry huff, Cait steps into my personal space, prepared to square off against me, an irritating and exciting trait in her. “Do you really want to argue with me, Corrin? Perhaps if you had half an eye on who I am instead of on your bank account when buying a gift, I would’ve liked it. Maybe even loved it.”

  Leaning down to her, nose-to-nose, the unmistakable scent of lavender on her skin heightens my desire for her. “My eyes are on making you queen, Cait, and giving you anything you desire. You could have everything.”

  “Oh, really?” Her enticing voice drops, eyes drawing me in, driving me bloody mad, and I wish on every countless star in the sky I could kiss her once again. “And does that deal come packaged with your ice-cold heart?” She steps away, yet her nearness leaves the taste of her breath on my tongue. “If so, I’ll pass. Try again, Your Highness.”

  “I believe we should head downstairs.” Father’s announcement tears my attention from Cait, and around, everyone stares at me and the scene playing out between us. Evan takes Runa by the arm, moving her back as I turn, infuriated, preparing a response to Cait’s remark, but find Dante’s glare blazing, daring me to speak.

  Slow and emphatic in its threat, he shakes his head. “You bear neither my temperament nor Cedric’s. For you, it seems the matter of any of my blood running through your veins is inconsequential. Meaningless as it may be to you, our relation quite literally is of blood rather than biology, and it disgusts me to no end you choose to dishonor such lineage. Truly, Corrin, I believe myself to be patient, but perhaps not even gods have patience for the likes of you.”

  *Cait*

  “Not even one dance?” Theo shakes his head stiffly, refusing me again, not meeting my eyes, and continues to survey the crowd milling around the Grand Ballroom.

  “Your secu
rity is paramount, Cait. How do you expect Claaron and I to ensure your safety if I am distracted?” With a small gesture to the frosty-haired dragon, Claaron nods and walks away, intercepting a couple heading toward me. “Too many people hold an interest in you here. You have great wealth and the ear of the king in their eyes. Should we provide the opportunity, they will use you, Cait. It is my duty to protect you, and to prevent such things.”

  “So this has nothing to do with this morning?”

  My dragon’s eyes flit over my face then return to his previous impassive position. “Does the king’s letter leave you reconsidering your actions? How Dante offers you a life I can never give?” Quietly, he says something to Claaron in another language, receiving a satisfactory response. “No. I expect nothing less than for you to make an informed decision.”

  I want to slap him right across the face and fold my hands together to keep from doing exactly that. “You think just because I didn’t tell you what the note said it must mean…” Biting my tongue, I take a deep breath. “Theo, how do I rationalize playing judge and jury over a person’s life? Can I sentence someone to death and not feel like a murderer?” Noticing the muscles in his jaw tense, his teeth clenching together, I know he’s listening, and considering how hard this is for me. “Dante says immortality isn’t forever. You hint around that somehow, some way, I’m going to end up eternal like the two of you. So I can’t help but think maybe it’s morally justifiable to delay what I want in order to do what’s right, to save a life until… eventually, the time will come when nothing can be done, and then I can move on.”

  “Have you considered perhaps such a time has come? Yes, you can save him, but do not feel guilty if you discover you do not believe you should.” Finally, his bold green eyes drop to meet mine. “Dante has noticed your absence, Cait.”