“And you?”
“Since when have you cared about my opinion?”
“Very recently.” His smile was wry. “I am not certain you will be able to leave this place; I cannot.” The smile dimmed. “Do you understand anything I’ve told you?”
This was annoying. She understood it all.
“I do want this, as you called it.”
“And you’re afraid to want it.”
“It is difficult to give one’s life to someone—to something—that does not want it in the same way. To know, when making any decision, that were there others, I would not even be considered. She asked permission to wake those who chose the long sleep—it is not death, as you perceive death, but it is not exactly life—and it was denied her.
“I have considered doing what she asked, but I swore oaths to the Imperial Flight; I could not easily break them, not even for the sake of a choice she does not want to make. There is a reason that the long sleep was chosen; the disruption to the Empire would be significant.”
“She understands that, as well. But you haven’t answered my question.”
“Which question?”
“That was a poor attempt at avoidance, even for you.”
Kaylin, we have an angry Dragon here.
Karriamis let her in? Did she actually come up with an answer to his question?
Not the time for that.
Do we also have angry Sedarias?
We do. Her anger is nothing to Bellusdeo’s. Things here could get...interesting.
Tell her that Emmerian is fine. I’ve found him. He’s fine.
You want me to tell her that you’re trapped with Emmerian? And you think that will make her less angry?
Fair point. Kaylin exhaled. “Bellusdeo is here.”
Emmerian’s eyes widened.
“She heard the cohort making a ruckus and she’s not stupid. She didn’t intend to return—Karriamis told her not to—until she could answer his question. Now, she probably doesn’t care about the question.”
“Understand,” Emmerian said, as he looked up at what passed for ceiling in this space, “that what I want, is not what Bellusdeo wants; she wants to get things over with. She just wants it done. She’ll take the least offensive option available to her in order to do her duty. But I don’t consider her to be the least offensive option; I don’t consider the Dragon race to be a simple weight to carry, a thing that must be seen to so that she can move on.
“I understand duty. I understand responsibility. But Kaylin, I understand hoard. And...I am not certain that I can do this duty in this paradigm and remain sane. The Emperor could. Diarmat could. I am less certain about Sanabalis, and as we’ve discussed, Lannagaros could not.
“I could begin,” he continued, his voice dropping, his eyes reddening. “I am considering it. We would still have children. We would still have the promise of the continuation of our race.
“But how promising will that beginning be if I can see a day coming in which those children—and the court and Bellusdeo—will have to destroy me?”
“I don’t understand hoard,” Kaylin finally said. “I just don’t. I understand it better because of what you’ve told me—but I don’t get it. You speak as if it’s not a choice. And I accept that. I’m not a Dragon. I’m not immortal. But...I don’t understand what you want. I understood, sort of, what the former Arkon wanted. I understood what he’d devoted his life to. Wouldn’t work for me, but I’m not him.
“And I understand some part of what Tiamaris wanted—but only because I’ve seen him with Tara. And that—that makes sense to me. She’s his wife. I mean, she’s a Tower and she’s a building and they’re not going to have children and raise happy families—but it doesn’t matter. That’s what I see, as a mortal.
“What do you want? What does Bellusdeo mean to you? What do you want her to mean to you, and...what do you want to mean to her?” When he failed to answer, she said, “I’m sorry. I’ve been thinking of Bellusdeo, and only of Bellusdeo. I’ve been thinking of the possible disasters around this decision because you’re right—this isn’t what she wants. She wants the war. She wants to be on the front lines until there’s no more Shadow, ever.
“But she understands the need for young. She gets that. It just isn’t what she wants. I understand what she wants. I understand why. I’d want it, too, if I were her. If every person I had ever loved had died or been corrupted and enslaved by Shadow, I’d want it dead.
“But I don’t understand what you want. I assumed—I’m sorry—that the ‘more Dragons’ part of the equation was something the entire Dragon court agreed on. I didn’t really think beyond that, and obviously, that was stupid.
“So: tell me what you want. Tell me what would drive you insane.”
At his expression, she quickly added, “Or not.” She stepped back instinctively, and realized as she did that she hadn’t taken enough steps back. Emmerian, in this enclosed space, was going full Dragon.
But if what he wanted was to be Bellusdeo’s hoard—if female Dragons even had any—it wasn’t going to happen. Not now. Probably not ever.
“Tara is Tiamaris’s hoard—and with her, the whole of the fief, because that’s what her duties are. But he’s not her hoard; she’s a Tower, she’s not a Dragon. He’s not insane. He’s not in danger of going insane. And they’re both happy. They’re both fine. I don’t understand.”
You should probably keep that to yourself, Severn said, his voice heavy with a concern that had not yet become fear but hovered on its edge.
I can’t. I don’t think he’s going to be able to leave this place if he doesn’t know.
Yes. But it doesn’t mean you have to know what that answer is.
I don’t think he has one.
Bellusdeo has entered the Tower.
Karriamis let her in?
Karriamis didn’t continue his attempts to keep her out.
Ugh.
Mandoran and Sedarias were helping.
The mystical equivalent of picking locks?
He nodded.
Great. So we’re going to have three angry Dragons.
I don’t think Karriamis is actually angry.
Not yet.
“I want to be part of her flight,” Emmerian said, the words elongated and rumbling with the depth of the much larger Dragon throat. “I want to fight by her side, as I fought—long ago—by the side of my closest companions. If she is to war against Ravellon, I want to be beside her. I want to—how do you put it?—have her back. Always.
“You do not see her. You see her as a Dragon. But Kaylin—had I been born to, or brought to, her world, I would have seen her as my queen; I would have had no other.”
She stared at him. None of this—none of the regard he had just put into words—had ever leaked out. He served the Emperor; he was like a...a minder. A guard. She had only seen him leap to her defense once—and he had been humiliated by it, by the lack of control, the lack of trust.
No, she thought; he trusted Bellusdeo; it was Helen, the cohort, Kaylin that he didn’t trust.
He had stepped back—he had had to step back—because some necessary layer of protective armor had been stripped back completely, and what it had revealed was too raw, too wrong. It went against every word he had just spoken—and she thought it went against every word he had once believed.
She swallowed. “And that’s all?”
“It is not. I want her to bear a clutch of my eggs. I want the children to be of both of us: the Dragon I admire and would have sworn my life to, and...me. I’m not worthy of her. I know I am not. I will not be, no matter how I strive—and the ability to strive in war or battle is gone; only the battle against Shadow is left us in which I might—might—prove myself.”
“Don’t,” she surprised herself by saying. “You’ll never believe it. If you compar
e yourself to her, you’ll never, ever believe it. No matter what you do. No matter how well you do it.
“Look—do you think she likes people because they deserve it? Because they’re worthy of it? If she did, she’d have reduced Mandoran to a pile of ash on day two. She’d never have moved in with me. If you’re not worthy of her now, how am I? Because I’m Chosen?” Kaylin inserted a single Leontine word.
“I am not talking about like.”
“Then what? Love? Aren’t they the same?”
“I begin to understand the corporal’s difficulties far more clearly. What I want is not the same. Were I to serve her, were she to be the leader of my flight, I would be hers.”
Kaylin nodded.
Emmerian exhaled a stream of fire. It wasn’t aimed at Kaylin, but it was hot. “I do not want—I am not certain I could survive—temporary.”
* * *
Kaylin waited for the fire to die down.
“After we visited the first time,” she said, meeting giant dragon eyes as she carefully chose words, given how very red they were. “You two went off to talk. Did you discuss any of this?”
Silence.
“You were talking for hours. What did you talk about?”
“The Tower. The Tower, the Tower’s question, the necessity of the Towers, Ravellon.”
“You didn’t talk about what Karriamis said about being guardian of your race at all?”
“No.”
“You know you’re allowed to bring things up, right? That’s why it’s called a discussion?”
“She is allowed privacy. Had she wished to discuss it, she would have mentioned it herself.”
Kaylin was frustrated.
Don’t be. If you’re angry at Emmerian for not opening discussions about extremely personal, difficult subjects...
Yes?
It’s what I do. Severn’s internal voice was soft.
But doesn’t that put the pressure and onus entirely on Bellusdeo?
Do you feel that the pressure of any discussion we have is entirely on you?
It’s not the same thing.
You understand that I want to be helpful to you, don’t you?
She nodded.
I understand why Emmerian chose not to open this particular discussion. It’s the source of most of her conflict with the Dragon Court. The former Arkon never discussed it; he didn’t allow it to be discussed in his presence at all. If Bellusdeo had opened that discussion, Emmerian would have accepted it. She didn’t. It’s far, far too personal.
Kaylin muttered a quiet Leontine curse. If he’s going to be the actual father of her children, they’re going to need to discuss things.
They have time. And even if they didn’t, even if they were both somehow mortal, time is necessary. Time. Space. Look, he cares about her. He clearly cares about her. But those feelings are his problem; they are his to untangle. If he opens that discussion, they become her problem.
But it is her problem.
Not by choice. In my opinion, he sees her clearly. Prior to Karriamis’s intervention, they could have continued to interact as they have. Given time, they might have been able to build a stronger connection.
But they could still do that.
Look at him. I’d tell you to look at Bellusdeo but she’s vanished, which is probably for the best. They no longer have the time to pretend none of this exists, and even if they had, Karriamis wouldn’t allow it.
I don’t like him.
This amused Severn.
I mean it.
I know.
He’s done nothing but cause pain to people who don’t deserve it. I don’t even understand why this is necessary.
It’s not necessary for you. But Karriamis is like Helen. He’s not disinterested. His involvement will be personal should he offer Bellusdeo the Tower.
At this point, I’m not sure she’d touch it.
Severn was. I think this is a question or a decision that Emmerian himself has to make, and Karriamis knows it. Bellusdeo is angry because, if she’s willing to talk about far more than Emmerian, she, like Emmerian, doesn’t step across unspoken boundaries. She knows what it would cost her; she doesn’t intend others to pay a price she won’t.
I’d like to punch Karriamis in the face.
So would both Dragons.
* * *
Emmerian was not a small Dragon, if Dragons could ever be said to be small. In the muted, gray light, the blue of his scales had shifted to a color that was almost purple—not as dark as the Imperial indigo, and not as red as Tiamaris often was in draconic form. His wings were gathered, but not folded, and his front legs left the ground as he extended his neck, lifting his jaw until the under-scales of chest and neck formed a single straight line.
I think he’s leaving.
He roared.
Kaylin lifted her hands to her ears as that roar echoed.
That’s not an echo.
No, she thought, as the sound enlarged and the ground beneath her feet began to truly rumble. She thought it was Bellusdeo.
But no, the third voice that joined the two was the familiar one. The first reply—if it was a reply—had been Karriamis.
The three draconic voices clashed and rumbled; it was like being caught in a thunderstorm—from inside the clouds. There was no place to which she could retreat, and no polite way to muffle the sound.
It might have helped if she could understand what the three were saying, but if she’d shown aptitude for learning unfamiliar languages, she doubted that extended to the draconic. They weren’t even supposed to be speaking it in the open streets or public areas because...it sounded like a disaster. Even if people could get used to it, it would cause nothing but hideous traffic jams when horses panicked, horses not being stupid.
She wasn’t surprised to see a gold dragon crash through the sky—and shatter it. The shards dissipated before Kaylin could move her hands from her ears to her face, and a tunnel appeared to form above what had been sky, as if they had been stranded at the bottom of a dry, empty well and could only now see the walls.
The walls, that is, that weren’t gold and orange and red; Bellusdeo’s roar contained fire. Kaylin couldn’t see the color of her eyes immediately, but didn’t really want to; she knew they’d be blood red.
What she hadn’t expected was the presence of the third Dragon.
He was not gold, not red, not indigo or blue or purple; he was not green—which was often the color of Dragons in art and storybooks. He reminded her of Kavallac, the Arbiter librarian, although she couldn’t say why; he was...white or silver or something in between—like a Dragon ghost, and not an actual Dragon.
Bellusdeo’s fire hit him.
So did Emmerian’s.
She would have been surprised had either injured him, and she remained unsurprised, but the fire didn’t pass through him; he wasn’t insubstantial; both streams struck him and pierced him, and he seemed to absorb the white and orange and yellow, his scales shifting in color as he did.
It was almost disturbing.
Had he chosen to return fire, she might have moved. His mouth was open, but his words weren’t accompanied by flame, or even streams of speckled cloud.
The marks on her arms were glowing a bright, bright gold.
She wasn’t surprised to see them rise, leaving her skin as if they were concentric, moving bracers; she lowered her hands.
“I think,” a familiar voice said into the ears she had just exposed, “it’s time to leave.”
“Past time,” she told Mandoran. “Is it safe?”
“About as safe as any place that features enraged Dragons trying to destroy something, yes.” That was Terrano.
“Is Sedarias here?”
“Sedarias was with Bellusdeo—I don’t think she joined her in the descent.”
&
nbsp; “She didn’t,” Terrano confirmed.
She felt two hands on either of her arms.
“You might want to close your eyes,” Mandoran said. “We’re not moving through normal space here.”
“Portal space?”
“You said it was okay inside the Hallionne. This should be like that.”
She closed her eyes.
* * *
The Dragons could still be heard when the trio landed, if landing was even the right word. Kaylin, between them, opened her eyes; she didn’t feel queasy and didn’t immediately drop to her knees—which would have been difficult in any case, as her arms were still attached to Terrano and Mandoran, and they weren’t kneeling.
They stood in a long, stone hall, the ceilings high enough to allow Dragons some flight; they were certainly wide enough and empty enough.
Sedarias was standing there, arms folded, expression pinched. She opened her mouth, but her words were lost to the sound of Dragon rage. If Kaylin couldn’t understand the words, she couldn’t ignore the tone.
You are an idiot. Sedarias chose to mouth the words, lips moving emphatically over very familiar syllables. Teela is worried.
“She’s not allowed to worry about me,” Kaylin shouted. Dragons clearly had humongous lungs; there was almost no break into which normal words could be wedged.
“You tell her that,” Sedarias shouted back.
She’s not here, Severn added.
You’re sure?
She felt his nod.
“We should leave,” Sedarias said.
“But—”
“He is unlikely to kill her. Or Lord Emmerian. Not when they’re like this.”
The roaring grew in volume; some of the pillars to either side seemed suddenly remarkably fragile. One cracked. Sedarias was right.
* * *
Leaving was easier said than done. The stone hall was longer than city blocks; Karriamis could have easily housed all of Elani in it. And while she hated much of Elani street, she wouldn’t really want to see it buried under tons of falling rock.
The entire hall shuddered, emphasizing the end fate of anything that remained in it. Kaylin had no doubt that the cohort could avoid falling rock; she was far less sure of herself.
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