Dragon Speaker

by Mugdan Elana A.

  The noise faded as quickly as it had come and the momentum of the ice shuttle changed. Keriya’s ears popped as they ascended toward a pinpoint of light. The light grew larger and brighter until they emerged into a round room made of polished white stone. They had arrived in the palace.

  A servant in silver and blue robes awaited them. He fell to his knees when he saw Thorion, pressing his hands together and making breathless, incoherent noises.

  “Useless,” Rainsword muttered, scowling at the servant as he marched the Aerians into the hall beyond.

  Five more soldiers met them and escorted them down an open-air gallery. Through the archways to the left, Keriya saw a vast garden lit by dimly glowing starblossoms. Beyond a wall of topiaries, a glassy sheen stretched up and curved overhead.

  Keriya realized with a jolt that they were underwater, in another ice bubble of gigantic proportions. Not so long ago, she would have marveled at the magic that could make such a wondrous thing possible. Now she felt as though she were in a gilded, sparkling prison.

  The gallery connected to the central palace, and after a few more twists and turns the group stopped before a set of doors made of pale blue wood. Rainsword tugged them open and admitted the Aerians into a marble chamber.

  Flags bearing the state emblem—a winding blue serpent on a silver background—hung from the high walls. A long carpet ran down the center of the room, ending at a set of stairs that led to a dais. Four thrones graced the platform, each molded from sparkling golden corals and set with plush fabric.

  On the middle thrones sat the king and queen. Fletcher and Roxanne bowed, and Keriya curtseyed clumsily. Thorion stared at the Galantrian rulers, stoic and unblinking.

  King Wavewalker could rival the dragon in terms of lack of emotion. Only his narrow azure eyes betrayed his inner turmoil. They were alight with something fierce and wild.

  “Lord Dragon,” he said, his deep voice echoing eerily in the wide room. “The legends do not do you justice. Come forward.”

  “He wants you to go to him,” Keriya translated.

  “Come with me?” said Thorion.

  They approached the thrones side by side. Wavewalker stood and descended to meet them. Streaks of gray kissed his shiny black hair at his temples. He had a short beard that tapered to a neat point on his chin and the same distorted fish-gill nose as his daughter.

  “And you are his rheenar,” he said to Keriya. He looked her up and down with the air of a vulture deciding whether to feed on a diseased carcass. “You are no more than a child.”

  Keriya knew the king hadn’t meant it as an insult. It was true, after all. She wasn’t yet fifteen, and even by Aerian standards she wouldn’t have been considered an adult—but the barely concealed disparagement in his voice made her stomach clench and her cheeks warm.

  “Your presence was foreseen, Lord Dragon,” said Wavewalker. “Allentria’s most powerful oracle had a vision of your triumphant return. My advisors dismissed it, but I believed. The Galantasa shall honor you as you were meant to be honored. You are a miracle, a gift from Zumarra and all the guardians of Allentria.”

  “Thank you,” said Keriya, when it became apparent he was waiting for a response.

  “Yet darkness overshadows your arrival.” His voice deepened and his eyes turned stormy. “My oracle foresaw tonight’s attack, too. That is why I believed her vision would come to pass. For fifteen years, darkness has grown in Allentria. Crops fail. Animals die. People vanish. Mausoleums report broken tombs and missing corpses.”

  Keriya’s stomach twisted.

  “I knew the signs for what they were: it is Necrovar’s touch that causes our land to sicken. I also knew if the Shadow had returned, the light would return for the sake of balance.” Wavewalker raised a hand, reaching for Thorion. Thorion leaned away from the touch and the king let his arm fall.

  “I had hoped the oracle’s foresight meant you were destined to prevent the catastrophe that occurred earlier,” he murmured.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “It’s not your fault. You could never have stood against the enormity of what happened tonight. I had put safeguards in place, yet they made no difference.” His expression grew hard as he added, “Evidently, we misinterpreted the oracle’s vision.”

  There was silence for a moment.

  “I’ve sent word to Empress Aldelphia requesting an emergency meeting of the Council of Nine,” the king continued. “I must travel to Noryk, so I cannot oversee the rebuilding of the Galantrian Village. You are to remain in my place,” he said, addressing Keriya. “And if our enemies should strike again, you shall command your dragon to strike back with all his power.”

  Keriya suppressed a shudder. Thorion’s existence had been made known to these people less than two hours ago, and already they were trying to use him to their advantage.

  But I did the same thing, she realized with a painful twinge. That’s why we’re in this mess. I thought I could bring him to Noryk or the Fironem and be a hero without any consequences.

  “Your Grace,” she began, causing Wavewalker to scowl. “I can’t command Thorion to do anything. I can convey your request, but whether he decides to fight is his choice, not mine.”

  “That,” he rumbled, “is where you are mistaken.”

  Keriya blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “The darksalm is undeniable proof that Necrovar has returned to our world. The Council will draft arms treaties and the states will increase their militias, but swords and soldiers will not save Allentria in this war. Lord Thorion must be the one to fight.”

  “I promise I’ll help you however I can,” she replied, “but I’d like to keep Thorion out of—”

  “Are you arguing with me?” Wavewalker’s tone made Keriya snap her mouth shut. He wasn’t angry, he was disdainful. In that moment, she knew there was nothing she could say to sway him. She became acutely aware of Rainsword’s soldiers, who had taken positions along the sides of the throne room.

  We’re trapped.

  In the time it took to draw a breath, a hundred ideas chased each other through Keriya’s head: she should run, she should fight, she should ask Thorion to blast the condescending smile off Wavewalker’s face—

  She felt, rather than heard, a growl coming from the dragon, and put a hand on his neck to calm him. Those were all horrible thoughts, but the fact that she’d had to think them meant she needed to get away from the king.

  “No,” she said. “I was just thinking that if you want us to fight, you should let us go fight. Shivnath chose me to defeat Necrovar. Let me do it.”

  She gave herself a mental pat on the back for coming up with such a good excuse to leave.

  “There is little need to traverse the empire looking for a fight. Not when the first blow has already been dealt against the Galantasa,” the king returned, his voice like silk scarves concealing knives.

  Keriya frowned. He made it sound like he wanted her to fight for him, and him alone.

  “We will discuss plans for reconstruction and decontamination tomorrow before I depart,” he informed her. “You will be provided quarters in the palace to ensure the safety of its inhabitants. Captain Rainsword will show you to your rooms and my servants will tend to your needs.”

  Keriya didn’t have time to protest—not that protestations would matter—before Rainsword and his men surrounded her. They ushered Keriya and Thorion out of the throne room, collecting Fletcher and Roxanne in the process.

  Before the great doors swung shut, Keriya heard the king say, “Send in my daughter.”

  “You disobeyed every order, every rule I set for you, Sebaris!”

  Seba knelt before the steps of the throne dais, her head bowed in shame.

  “You have brought dishonor on House Ishira. Have you aught to say for yourself?”

  “No, Sire,” she murmured to t
he carpet, flinching at his tone.

  “What possessed you?” His voice changed, and Seba knew he was addressing her as father to daughter, not as king to heir. “You could have been hurt or killed. In a few short years, you will sit on the Coral Throne—and it is apparent that you have yet to learn proper behavior for a princess.”

  Yes, but what of being a ruler? she thought bitterly.

  That didn’t matter, for Seba was not to be a ruler. She was merely to be a princess, and one day, a queen—a political figurehead who would be seen and never heard. She was to sit by her husband’s side and bear him children, and ultimately she would die and be forgotten, having never done anything substantive in her life.

  “You risked too much tonight. We need your foresight abilities, but you refuse to take your gift seriously. You prance about unattended, when at any moment the power could take you.”

  “You know it doesn’t work like that—”

  “Hold your tongue,” he bellowed. “On top of everything else, I hear you wielded. Magic isn’t fit for a lady of your rank, so again you shame your House, because again you cast aside your heritage and your duties as if they mean nothing to you.”

  “I couldn’t have avoided this,” she argued. “It was in my last vision. I saw the dragon and the darkness. I saw myself saving the Galantrian Village.”

  “And a fine lot of good that vision did us,” he said, pacing in agitation. “The city lies in ruin.”

  Seba closed her eyes against a wave of stinging tears. She might not have saved the buildings, but she knew for a fact she’d saved hundreds of lives by ordering her people to evacuate. Shouldn’t that count for something? Property could be rebuilt, but darksalm was a death sentence of the cruelest nature.

  “It is time you learned to read your visions properly,” the king growled. “If you had understood your foresight, we might have been able to avert this catastrophe.”

  This was how it always went. Something in the Galantasa goes wrong? Blame Seba, who didn’t interpret her foresight dreams correctly, because if she had, none of this would have happened.

  “You are to stay inside from this day forth, and you will have a guard stationed with you at all times for your safety. Your lessons for your gift and your royal duties will be doubled. We can’t risk losing you, Seba,” he added softly. “You’re all my House has left.”

  The note of finality in his voice told Seba it was over. She rose slowly, biting her lower lip to keep it from trembling. She bowed to her father and nodded to her mother, whose dark blue eyes swam with concern. But she was a good queen, a silent queen who knew her place, and she said nothing.

  Seba, also silent, left the throne room and found two soldiers waiting.

  Her new permanent bodyguards.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “There will come a point, sooner than any of us would like to think, when we each must decide where our loyalties lie.”

  ~ Viran Kvlaudium, Twelfth Age

  Keriya stood beside Thorion, helping wherever she could as Rainsword and his men toiled on the shores of the East Outlet. The soldiers wielded water through a series of silver nets that had been erected along the banks of the river. The nets were designed to detect impurities, the intention being to find any trace of darksalm.

  The threads in the darksalm were no longer volatile, so they couldn’t infect anyone by mere touch, but they were still dangerous. The last fortnight had been spent extracting the deadly substance from the ruins of the town and sealing it in lead containers for deportation.

  Thorion was overseeing the process—rather, he’d been forced to oversee it. Though no one in the Galantrian government had explicitly stated that he and Keriya were prisoners, she was no fool. Even Fletcher and Roxanne were watched and guarded, and occasionally “requested” to work.

  Their shift ended at sunset and soldiers appeared to bring Thorion to the palace. An ache surfaced between Keriya’s eyes as she slouched toward the coralstone square where the ice shuttle waited. She longed for a moment of peace, for her quiet chamber and soft bed.

  There was no peace to be found. The palace was in an uproar when they arrived. Servants and soldiers alike raced hither and thither along the corridors.

  “What’s happening?” Thorion asked, locking eyes with a servant boy who threw himself into a bow so forcefully that he tripped over his own feet.

  “I don’t know,” said Keriya. “Probably nothing good.”

  They rounded a corner and collided with Max, who was hurrying down the hallway.

  “Keriya! Thank Shivnath you’re still here,” Fletcher cried. He, Roxanne, and Effrax were following a few paces behind the prince.

  “You’re not to speak to anyone,” one of Keriya’s guards reminded her. “You’re to return to your chambers.”

  “Stand down, soldier,” said Max. “We have business with the Dragon Speaker.”

  “We thought they might have taken you away already,” Fletcher added.

  Keriya stared at him blankly.

  “Come now, Dragoneyes, no need to play dumb,” Effrax said, noticing her expression. “You know I’ve a knack for overhearing things I shouldn’t.”

  “What are you talking about?” she asked. The ache in her head intensified.

  Max frowned. “You don’t know?”

  “King Wavewalker returned from Noryk this morning,” said Fletcher, his voice low and urgent. “The Council of Nine signed a writ, conscripting Thorion into active wartime service—”

  “Speaking openly of Imperial business can be considered treason,” the same guard interrupted.

  “I told you to stand down,” Max rejoined, his voice like a dagger. “Imperial business is my business. They may speak while I am present.”

  Keriya closed her eyes in defeat, a leaden ball sinking through her stomach. Shivnath had wanted her to face Necrovar alone; the rest of Allentria wanted to wage war against him. Shivnath had wanted Thorion to be kept safe; Empress Aldelphia wanted him to fight. Shivnath hadn’t explained anything satisfactorily; neither had anyone else.

  Thorion’s thoughts hummed with an odd pressure. She looked at him and found his eyes wide.

  she lied. Although, maybe it wasn’t a lie—she wasn’t frightened anymore, she was angry. She was fed up with everyone wanting Thorion to fight their battles for them.

  So much for there always being a choice.

  “. . . and if that’s true, why did the Council also sign a military treaty?” Max was arguing with Effrax. “They wouldn’t bother with their armies if they thought it was going to end with Keriya and Thorion.”

  That was a nicer way of saying they didn’t believe in Keriya and Thorion, which meant they were knowingly and shamelessly sending her drackling to his death.

  Thorion bumped his head against her hip plaintively, begging for her attention.

  she thought, placing a trembling hand on his neck for comfort.

  “Rheenar, may we fetch anything for the Lord Dragon?” Keriya was wrenched from her telepathic conversation by two simpering servants who’d appeared behind her. One gawked at Thorion while the other tried to press a warm washcloth to her neck. It was a Galantrian custom that was supposed to soothe one’s nerves. She shied away from the servant’s hands, her body coiled tight with tension.

  “You’re to be taken to Noryk,” Max told Keriya. “Now that it’s come to this, we must each decide what we will do.”

  “You act like it’s a tough decision,” said Effrax. “There’s only one option: destroy Necrovar at any cost.”

  “It cost you the dragons last time,” Keriya growled. “They were imprisoned for the sake of your precious magical balance. So no,
not at any cost.”

  She needed to get away from these people, the soldiers who acted as her jailers and the servants who flitted around, asking if there was anything they could do for the great Lord Dragon. If they loved him so much, why were they all so eager to send him to his doom?

  Everyone was arguing again. Why was no one asking for Thorion’s opinion? He was the lynchpin, the keystone, the one on whom everything depended. A painful throb pulsed through Keriya’s skull and heat surged in her chest.

  Another servant popped up in front of her, a groveling man who bowed and said something about preparing Thorion’s supper, as if there wasn’t a war brewing, its threat hovering above Keriya and Thorion like a headsman’s ax.

  “Just leave me alone,” she cried over the clamor. Thorion lashed out at the same time, opening his mouth and spitting a thin beam of light at the servant.

  The spell missed the man by a hair’s breadth and hit the wall behind him, searing a scorched circle into the marble. The servant fell back, terrified. Everyone else froze.

  Thorion didn’t seem to realize what had happened. In truth, none of the others probably understood, either. But Keriya knew.

  She dropped to her knees before the drackling and took his bronze head in her hands. His eyes were no longer the pristine amethysts they had once been. They were deep like an ocean, crackling like a thunderstorm. As she gazed at him, she saw all of her own ugly emotions glaring back at her accusingly.

  Keriya was without magic, weapon, or political clout to do anything about her rage, but Thorion was her polar opposite. He could take out his anger—My anger, she amended herself—on anyone, at any time.

  This was the phenomenon the Allentrians spoke of. She could control her dragon. She could pour her feelings into him and manipulate him, just like Wavewalker and Aldelphia wanted.

  She looked at the servant. “I’m sorry,” she stammered, reaching for him to see if he was alright. “Thorion didn’t mean—”

  The man shrank away from her approach, his blue-black eyes darting rapidly between her and her drackling.