Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  “Does she?” Verath feigned surprise. His eyes grew exaggeratedly large as he fought back a grin.

  She hesitated and her smile grew wider as she struggled to contain more waves of mirth that were so desperate to burst forth. “If you had not yet noticed, then perhaps she is not trying hard enough!”

  “Ha!” Verath laughed again. “Well, Caterina does try! But it is achingly obvious to the king. He knows what her motives are. He has no interest in them or her. He has no interest in women at all. He gave them up not long after his crowning.”

  “Really? He prefers men?” The question was out.

  “No, no.” Verath waved his hand in dismissal. “The king is not interested in either.”

  “But he is so young! Surely he still seeks love, despite the common knowledge that...” She trailed off, afraid to mention his failure of finding a mate.

  “His scars are to blame,” Verath said. “We assure him that they are not so bad, but he will not hear it.” He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “His is a common affliction for one whose once-handsome face suffers from mutilation. He is entirely too self-conscious.”

  “I see.” She almost pitied the king.

  She and Verath fell silent, so she went back to her pie, picking out a few berries and plopping them into her mouth. The juice exploded on her tongue, its tangy flavor overpowering her senses. Verath continued to watch her, but she tried not to let it make her uncomfortable.

  After a few minutes of his intense gaze, she asked what she had been dying to know: “Why did you invite me here tonight?”

  Verath regarded her for what felt like an eternity before answering. “From my observations,” said he, “you worked hard tonight, as you always do.” There was a pause as his gaze fell to the front of her apron. She too looked down and blushed, reminded of the food stains that embarrassed her so. To her relief, Verath made no mention of them.

  “What impresses me the most about you, Desaree, is that I have never seen you in poor spirits. There is always a smile upon your face and a warm greeting to be had. You are kinder than you ought to be to many who do not deserve your gentleness.” Her mind began spinning faster than her racing heart. “As to why I requested you specifically—I assumed you would be hungry, so I called you here tonight because I wanted you to have a nice meal.”

  He fell silent. She could not take her eyes from his face. His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to say more. Instead, he drummed his fingertips upon the arm of his chair. She hardly knew what to say in response to his honesty.

  “We Drengr are often selfish,” he mused, looking down at the table as he began to run a finger along the wood grain.

  Her brow furrowed. “I beg to differ. I have heard many stories regarding your kind.”

  “Oh?”

  “Selfish is not the word I would have chosen. Honorable and selfless perhaps.”

  He chuckled. “Perhaps, but behind all of that we are greedy. A Drengr is only half man. The other half…”

  She knew what he meant, but it was not for her to argue. Dragons in the tales of old were known to be greedy, bloodthirsty beasts. Verath was neither.

  “I am selfish, Desaree, because even though I hide behind the pretense of inviting you here to feed you, I felt lonely tonight. I thought perhaps your company would lift my spirits.” These were the words she both wanted and dreaded. She dreaded the words because loving a King’s Shield was dangerous. She knew enough to know that.

  “You look disappointed.” There was no surprise in Verath’s voice, as if he expected such a reaction.

  “Disappointed?” She shook her head, doing her best to appear the opposite. “I am not disappointed. I am honored, my lord, to be considered fit company for a King’s Shield.”

  “Verath…remember?” He winked at her, now smiling. “When we are alone together, I insist that you refrain from titles.” Her heart could have failed her in that moment. It certainly felt as though it no longer had the capacity to beat. “Now, it is getting late. Off to bed with you. You can take the pie along. I will have my man-servants take the rest to the cookery in the morning.”

  She may as well have been struck dumb. All she could do was smile and nod as she picked up the pie and left his room. That same smile plastered to her face refused to depart even in sleep as she dreamt of him that night, and many nights to come.

  37

  Kastali Dun

  Talon sat before his shields, eyeing them in silence. Firelight danced upon them, casting long shadows around the sitting area of his chambers. Outside, a thunderous storm threw itself upon the keep’s walls, breaking the day’s humidity. Inside, all that could be heard was the crackling and popping within the grate. No one wished to speak, especially not he.

  Three days of funeral games had come and gone. What he thought was an adequate postponement of the inevitable was no longer so. Tomorrow the dreaded trial would arrive, and he would be forced to confront that which he wished to avoid: the added trouble this foreign woman had created. He had half a mind to further defer the trial, knowing he was in a poor state to act as its mediator, but this was his duty.

  He gave a heavy sigh and turned his gaze back to the fire. Duty was always the driving force behind his role. He had every reason to despise it. Duty urged him to face each day anew, and duty kept him hard at work late into the night. Such was the way for a king—a lesson that took him years to learn.

  He never wanted to be king. As a young Drengr, he denied such a task would come, but it had, painfully so. When his parents were ripped from the world, he was forced to take up the position, despite his hatred of duty, despite his dread for responsibility.

  “No good will come from tomorrow,” Reyr murmured after the silence grew too great. He met Reyr’s golden eyes, noticing the intensity within them. It often felt like Reyr could read the writing of his soul, and sometimes it was too much. He looked away and found the others were also keen, their gazes turned intently upon him.

  “What would you have me do, Reyr? Cancel the trial? Policy demands it.”

  Koldis snorted. “The Lower Council demanded Claire’s head too, yet you did not acquiesce.”

  “I already know your arguments, Koldis. You have given them often and without restraint. All of you have.” He afforded each of them a stern glare. “You would have me speak with this woman in private. You would have me look the fool.” These paths had been crossed more than once. The conclusion was always the same. “Without a trial, my people will believe I am weak. The Council will feel slighted. All will claim that this temptress has me eating from the palm of her hand. Am I to abandon the law?”

  “Yes, yes.” Reyr waved a hand in annoyance, his fires stoked. “The people cry for justice. We all know they do. Since when have the people come before your duty to do what is right?”

  “And what is right, Reyr?” He refrained from raising his voice, so much so that it was nearly too low, like the warning growl from a berated cat, or the stifled snarl from an irritated dragon. It took very little to arouse the beast within. Besides, he already knew the answer Reyr was bound to give.

  Politicians were slippery snakes he longed to squash. If he did such a thing, more would simply spring from the ground. It was impossible to please everyone. If he leaned one way, his people would cry out in dismay. If he leaned the other, the response would be the same.

  “Speak with Claire,” Reyr said. “Discover the truth behind what happened. You are not merely depriving yourself of the answers. Cyrus was our brother too.” Nods from Bedelth, Jovari, Koldis, and Verath traversed the group. They were against him, and he hated it.

  Unsettling as it was, Reyr’s words were too true. It was the truth that left him fearful. Unbreakable Promise or not, he was hardly ready to confront whatever it was that this woman had to say. Admittedly he was a coward, inclined to hide behind his emotions and Reyr knew it—the look he imparted upon Talon spoke volumes.

  “Your Grace, if I may—”

  An abr
upt shake of his head silenced all further protests. He simply could not bring himself to grant their requests. Not yet. He needed more time. He needed to heal. He needed to see this woman for himself and discover what she was about. Only then would he decide whether or not to act upon Reyr’s advice.

  “The trial will go as planned, Reyr. Tomorrow this outsider will have the opportunity to face the kingdom. If she chooses to withhold information before the Council, then she will go back to the cells.”

  Reyr opened his mouth, but he silenced the golden Drengr with a wave of his hand.

  “Enough of this talk. I am weary.” Despite his companions’ willingness to keep him company, he wanted none. His tortured heart burned with emotion: He felt injured by his loss of Cyrus, crippled by his feelings of abandonment, and angered by Claire for upsetting the balance of things. The latter was winning above the rest. “Leave me for now. I will see you in the morning.”

  His Shields complied, rising from their chairs and exiting the room. Reyr was the last to depart. Just before shutting the door, he hesitated on the threshold for several breaths. Finally, he shook his head and disappeared.

  Talon found himself alone. The hour was late and the storm had moved on. But there would be no sleeping tonight—such a commodity was all too rare. It often felt as if every bit of him belonged to his people, as if he was the true servant. Most days he offered himself unyieldingly, but there was still one thing that was entirely his own.

  Leaving the interior of his chambers for one of his tower’s many balconies, he met the night air. The smell of rain was thick around him, cleansing some of the stench that rose from the city. The clouds had cleared enough to show many stars; he found himself gazing upward into their midst. He belonged there within the heavens, lost within the sky and its clouds. No one could ever take that from him.

  Resting his forearms upon the parapet that separated him from the plummet to the sea below, he leaned forward. Only a few golden pinpricks could be seen—ships making their way to and from the ports of Kastali. Gazing out into the night, out into its darkness, he considered the life he had been given.

  If only the gods had chosen a different color for him. Black was not meant for ruling, and no king before had borne it. There were many good reasons why the royal family birthed reds, golds, and blues. Why black? Why him?

  It was an impossible color to conquer and the epitome of unruliness. Those rare few to be cursed as he were easily prone to anger, fear, and grief. What was worse, most lost themselves to it. He had very few fears, but losing himself to the madness was one.

  “The beast within is untamed,” his father used to say. His parents often worried over his color, and even more frequently used it as an excuse for his rebellion. Uncontrollable or not, that part of him would always be his.

  Was that the true reason he had failed to find a mate? He thought about all the women from his younger days, all the women he bedded, all the women he wronged. Which of them could tame him? None! He knew it now just as he had known it then. He was never meant to be owned by love. Such a thing was written in other colors, but not his.

  To be mateless was a curse unto itself. He shook his head, pushing away the reminder of his ultimate failure. Instead he listened to the wind taunting him, coaxing him. “Come and fly with me,” it said. This time he would answer the call.

  Leaping from the ground, Talon shed his skin. He transformed into the hulking black iridescent scales that fit him better than humanity ever would. It was liberating. With outstretched wings he caught the nearest updraft, letting it carry him far from his responsibilities and further still from his fears. Flying was the only thing that brought him joy, and how lucky he was to never share it. Let the people take everything else. They could never take his wings...

  For a long time that night he was one with the wind, letting his body drift and soar, allowing his mind to forget the many problems he was doomed to face. The beast in him took over as he located a herd of wild grazers roaming the plains of Eigaden. They snacked under the stars, oblivious to much of their surroundings. If they anticipated his approach, they gave no sign of it, except a bit of shifting from hoof to hoof.

  Pleased, he glided silently over them, absolute in his stealth. When he found one suitable for his picky tastes he overtook it, snatching it up in his mighty claws and breaking its neck before it could feel pain. It was a heavy creature, fattened from a season of gorging. All the better for him. He carried it to a perch overlooking the prairie. There he feasted in peace. Nothing felt more powerful than being a dragon. Nothing.

  By morning, his appetites were satisfied and his mind calmer, or so he thought. When he landed upon his terrace and took up his human form, all his woes came flooding back. The relentless waves of duty always found the man who waited upon the shores of responsibility. With nowhere to escape, it was inevitable.

  “Good morning, Your Grace.” Reyr unexpectedly greeted him.

  Much to his surprise, he was relieved. A friend in need was always welcome, and today his need was great. “I had not expected to find you here,” he said. “I certainly do not deserve such devotion.” Then without stopping himself, he covered the distance between them and clapped the gold Drengr upon the back in greeting.

  “I am here, Your Grace. I will always be here, devoted as ever.” Reyr bowed his head in respect. The golden Drengr was unyielding in his duties and even more so in his steadfast friendship. His color was a true testament to his heart.

  Talon nodded in acceptance. “It was wrong of me to dismiss you so abruptly last night,” he said. Admitting to one’s faults was never painless, but after so many years of Reyr’s company, it got easier.

  “Your burdens are great and many, Talon. As my king, you owe me no apologies.”

  “Yes, but as your friend I do.”

  Reyr smiled, taking hold of his shoulder in a reassuring gesture. He was quick to forgive. “Come now, we have other matters at hand. Today, we are going to court. Today, you will finally meet Claire.”

  Unexpectedly, his heart beat a little faster. From fear, perhaps? Or was it nervousness? Whatever it was, he was suspicious of the foreign feeling. Something about this woman worried him, threatened him. Surely his instincts directed him, warning him stay away.

  “Claire…” he slowly repeated, as if saying her name for the first time. It was nice. He mulled it over in his mind. Keeping her nameless made it easier to place his blame, blame that ultimately rested with him. But admitting to his blame was the added brick that would send him buckling under too much weight. “What is she like?” he asked at last, failing to bridge the silence with something better.

  “Well…” Reyr was hesitant. “Beautiful, to be sure.”

  He grunted. “Since when have I cared about a woman’s beauty?” His scars ensured that beauty would never come to him. The only second glances he received were from those brave enough to gawk at his ugliness. “I stopped caring about beauty and women, remember?”

  Reyr failed to hide his grin. “You used to care, you know, when you were younger.” His references were all too obvious. Before Gemma, he and Reyr had plenty of tumbles and romps with women both noble and common. Instead of responding, he feigned a look of warning.

  “Very well. I shall tell you then. Claire is unlike any woman I have ever met. She is…”

  “She is what?”

  “Different.”

  That hardly helped. His scowl deepened.

  “She is headstrong, stubborn, determined...” Reyr began ticking off Claire’s characteristics on his fingers as his grin grew wider, as if he knew something Talon did not. “She is also a little strange. She does not behave like the women we are used to.”

  “I shall have my work cut out for me then,” he muttered, his annoyance resurfacing. Perhaps Reyr found merit in these traits, but he did not. They were not qualities he looked forward to wrestling with in court—or ever. The dragon within was too quick to anger, and if that happened, he would be helpless
against the darkness inside.

  “Oh yes, Your Grace, your work is cut out for you.” For a moment, their eyes exchanged silent understanding. Reyr spoke once more, “It is nearly time. Shall I wait for you to prepare?” Reyr was already dressed formally in his court attire, his large Sverak belted to his waist. “I thought you might like accompaniment this morning, and I assume you have already eaten.”

  “Aye, a fat male grazer from the herds up north.”

  Reyr offered a toothy grin. “Good. Then hurry up.”

  Like his companion, he too garbed himself in his best, strapping his black-jeweled Sverak to his side. The sword was a Drengr’s symbol of maturity—a gift from father to son at the coming of age. He wore his proudly.

  Atop his head, his most regal crown was placed. The weight of it prompted him of what lay ahead. “A crown should always be heavy to remind you of the burden you must carry,” his father once told him. He was only a young boy then, and had not yet succeeded in Drengr transformation. As a child, he could not understand why his father bothered with such a burdensome formality.

  “Just leave it behind, Papa,” he said, watching his father fuss with his crown as he prepared for the tedious duties of court. “You’re the king. That means you can do what you want.”

  “It is because I am the king that I wear it, my son.” His father’s stern look was something he never forgot. “Someday you will understand.” King Tallek was right. He did understand, only too well. It was now his turn to wear the crown whenever propriety deemed it necessary, and today was one of those days.

  38

  Kastali Dun

  Claire heard footsteps outside her cell. She slinked back into the corner. All this time she had waited, furious over her confinement. Now she no longer wanted to leave the darkness of her familiar cage. The task ahead seemed hopeless: In everyone’s eyes she was already guilty. The promise would not let her argue otherwise. It trapped the answers within her mind, and there was only one person who could free them.