Dragon's Fire

by Gwynn White

  A thousand bees exploded from the tree.

  He grabbed a handful of honeycomb while Meka and Grigor took off, screaming toward a river. With no regard to the cold, they dove in.

  Once Meka was safe, Tao started to laugh.

  There had to be more to the bee-charming lark than met the eye. He raised his arm and, bending the light, stopped the bees in flight. Just as he would have done if Meka had been threatened. The bees turned back to the hive.

  Order restored, Tao joined his sons. They were still under the water.

  He sat down to wait. Mortals had to breathe. They came up spluttering and furious.

  “That was just stupid,” Grigor yelled at the top of his lungs. His face was so red that, if Tao didn’t know better, he would have thought the boy was about to have an aneurysm. “Those bees could have stung Meka. He could have swollen up and died, thanks to you.” Fists flailing, he stomped out of the river and up the bank. “Don’t you care about him? Does he mean nothing to you? Don’t we matter to you? Or is Nicholas all you care about?”

  When Tao didn’t respond, Grigor added, “Well, Meka means something to me. Do something stupid like that again, and I’ll—”

  Grigor stopped in his tracks.

  Tao heard him think: What can I do to someone who’s already dead?

  Meka was still in the water, his face ashen. Tao didn’t need to hear Meka’s thoughts to know that his son’s confidence in his father had shattered.

  Tao pushed his sorrow aside and held out some of the honeycomb. “Meka, eat this. The sugar will do you good.”

  Meka shook his head, mumbling, “You’re insane. Not dead. Dead people don’t go around inciting bees. Dead people don’t go around doing anything. That’s the whole point of being dead.”

  Tao gave Meka a sad smile. “Biology complete. Whether the lesson has been learned remains to be seen.” To Grigor, he said, “If I can leave one thought with you—ponder on how you felt when you saw your brother’s life threatened.”

  Grigor glared at him.

  Tao turned his attention to Meka. “Remember, Meka, no matter how much Grigor annoys you, you are his world. If you two don’t stand together and care for each other, who will? No one else living cares for you the way you care for each other. Don’t let anything or anyone—not family, not rank, not title—let you forget what you learned today.”

  Both boys shifted.

  His voice dropped. “My sons, because that is exactly who you are, please understand that there are forces in Chenaya far more dangerous than bees. I wanted nothing more than to be a proper father to you both. But you have already seen what your uncle can do when crossed. He controlled me, Lynx, and Nicholas in exactly the same way he has controlled you. Now he wants to divide you. Please don’t let him succeed. If you take nothing else from me, remember the lesson of the bees.”

  Grigor was the first to respond. “I think we’ll go now.”

  He helped Meka to his feet and, without waiting for an answer from Tao, led his brother though the forest to the palace.

  Tao knew, on some level, they acknowledged that the lesson had been needed, but that in their individual hearts, that realization didn’t forgive his actions. He had to put that right. But that would have to wait until they called for him. Hopefully, they would not be as stubborn with him as Nicholas appeared to be with Dmitri.

  Chapter 34

  Today Lukan intended to tell his heirs about his new regime for their lives. He could have sent Kestrel or Felix, but he wanted to gauge their reaction. If he felt in any way threatened by them or their response to his offer of freedom, regardless of the Fifteen, he would forget all talk of opening the gates to the lake.

  Lukan’s life and his throne were at stake here, and he didn’t intend to hand his heirs freedom only to discover that he’d inadvertently given them the key to the armory instead—figuratively, at least. Survival in Chenaya meant being one step ahead of the enemy, and by coming himself, he was extending his stride.

  He cursed as his boot slipped off the slippery stairs leading to the turret where his heirs lived. With spine-jarring speed, he skidded down, only just stopping himself from falling by grabbing the handrail. Too many screws holding it to the wall long since gone, the railing bounced ineffectually in his hand. He tumbled, crashing down onto his knees on the stone steps. He swore against the pain.

  “Sire!” Panicked hands reached to lift him. Two of the guardsmen that now watched over the princes hovered over him.

  Humiliated at falling before an audience, he shrugged their hands away. At his fierce expression, the men shrunk back. He pulled himself up tall, straightened his waistcoat, and brushed grime off his black trousers.

  Didn’t anyone ever clean here?

  Then he remembered: No servants tended his heirs. He had provided them with cleaning supplies when they had first moved in here from the nursery. It seemed they hadn’t spent too much time using them.

  Well, this morning, that would change. He had spent the night in his bunker pondering the problem Felix had dumped on him at yesterday’s council meeting and had finally made a decision. As of today, his heirs would have so many servants clucking over them they wouldn’t even have to wipe their own asses unless they wanted to.

  More carefully, he made his way up to the landing.

  The guardsmen stood at attention there.

  He waited until they had finished genuflecting to him and asked, “The princes? They are at their lessons?”

  The oldest of the men, a grizzled guardsman with typical dead eyes, spoke. “They have not left the apartment today, sire.” He paused and then added, “The tutor, Arkady, has not arrived, though.”

  A warning bell sounded in Lukan’s mind. He pushed past the soldiers and strode into the sitting area—and gasped at the smell.

  Dirty clothes, bags of rotting fishing bait, tangled rolls of fishing line, dog-eared books, abandoned school work, and dirty plates and cups the guardsmen had neglected to return to the kitchen lay scattered on every surface, including the floor. Even the walls were grimy, the silk coverings ink splattered, torn, and in places, moldy.

  He had noticed some mess when watching his heirs on his informa but had never imagined the squalor they lived in. Despite boasting many of the same furnishings as when Lynx lived here, the room looked nothing like it had back then. Gagging, he rushed to the open window. His retching made so much noise, he expected the two pigs that lived in this dump to come and investigate, but no one in the apartment stirred.

  It told him all he needed to know. Tao had struck again.

  Who knew where his heirs were now?

  Typical of Tao to cross him. It was just one more betrayal in a lifetime of betrayals by his brother. That made his stomach roil even more than the smell.

  He closed his eyes, waiting for his insides to settle.

  When he won the battle against his stomach, he glanced over at the door to Lynx’s old room—the one in which Nicholas had been conceived—and sighed. He wasn’t sure he had the courage to go in there yet. He hadn’t mustered enough to visit it in all the years since her banishment.

  But that was where his heirs now slept. A concession to their status as princes and sons of his brother, he had given them Lynx’s room when they had first moved in here.

  He dreaded to see how they had destroyed that.

  The need to be in her space again got his feet moving. He picked his way through the mess to the closed door. It had a hole in the bottom, right where someone’s boot must have kicked. It had probably happened during a fight between his heirs.

  His stomach knotted again.

  “Kestrel’s plan had better work.” He pushed the door open and stopped on the threshold.

  The bed where he had made love to Lynx, on that best and worst day of his life, was long gone, replaced by two single beds. Unmade, of course. He ignored the sour smell of dirty bed linen and stared up at the ceiling. He had never noticed the giant red, black, and gold birds painte
d there.

  Sadness engulfed him.

  Lynx had probably lain in bed at night watching them fly. He hoped the sight of them had given her more pleasure than he was feeling at the dirty finger marks smeared across the once-brilliant blue sky. The mural was utterly wasted on his heirs.

  He walked across the threadbare carpet to the closed window, intending to fling it open to air the room. One of the beds was pressed against the wall under the sill. Gritting his teeth against the graying sheet, he knelt to open the window latch. As he stood, he noticed a bulge under the sagging mattress.

  Something hidden, perhaps?

  He pulled out Tao’s falconry book.

  Heart racing, he flipped through the pages to find the painting of him, Tao, and Axel. It was tucked at the back. He grimaced with anger at the finger marks on Tao’s face; his heirs had even managed to spread their grime across this treasure.

  “Felix is right. If these two animals are to have any credibility, they have to get cleaned up and start behaving like Avanov princes.” He tucked the book and picture under his arm—it would go straight back to his bunker—and surveyed the room. A bevy of decorators and cleaners would be needed to turn this apartment into a place fit for an heir to the Chenayan throne. It was vital if it kept the Sixteen on his side.

  He caught the rasp of boots on the stone stairs.

  The princes were home from their unauthorized excursion.

  His scar throbbed at their defiance. Hating that the confounded injury had robbed him of the ability to hide his emotions, to look serene despite the provocation, he fought to suppress the anger that made it flare. There would be time enough for action if this elaborate scheme failed. He could take all his frustrations out on that defiant wolf, Meka.

  “Come, Meks.” The crown prince’s voice. “It’s done. Over. Just relax here for a bit.”

  Lukan’s curiosity was piqued.

  “Yeah. I think we should just put the whole Tao thing down to experience.”

  Lukan’s curiosity shot into overdrive. What was this? Something finally going right in his life? It seemed almost too good to be true.

  The door creaked as his heirs pushed into the room.

  Before either of them noticed him, he said, “Had a good day at school, boys?”

  They froze, rigid with shock.

  Lukan waited to see who would speak first. If the gods were really on his side, it would be the crown prince.

  Almost on cue, Grigor muttered, “Um, yes, thank you, sire.”

  Maybe his luck was finally changing. Only sixteen or so years too late.

  He studied them. Strangely, despite the icy weather, their clothing was wet. Had they been swimming? With Tao prowling around, he didn’t believe for a second that it had been in the lake.

  His eyebrows rose at Meka’s pallor. “And you, Meka? Not sickening for something, I hope? Swimming wouldn’t have been wise, were that the case.”

  That familiar defiance glinted in Meka’s Norin eyes. “I’m fine.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “Sire.”

  The desire to hit the infernal boy welled up in Lukan. He suppressed it. “Good, because now would be the wrong time to get sick. You see, I am putting you out on parole.” He couldn’t resist an ironic laugh. “For good behavior.” He waited for their response.

  Their emotionless faces disappointed him, but he hid it. “I see. So the idea of you both behaving properly is so foreign that you have nothing to say for yourselves.”

  “Perhaps if we understood, sire.”

  “Simple, Crown Prince. It’s time you both cut back on the fishing and focused on living, breathing humans. With that in mind, tonight, your mother and I are hosting a gathering for you to meet the other teenagers. How does that sound?”

  Grigor’s jaw dangled. All the boy needed was to start drooling, and he would look like the village idiot.

  Typically, his brother was not so easy to please. The blond rebel took a step closer. “I like fishing.”

  “Oh, I think I am aware of that, Meka.” Lukan thrust his arm out, gesturing to the balcony. “The lure of the great outdoors.”

  “So, I’m not willing to stop.” Meka’s voice was quiet but firm; he stared at Lukan with ill-concealed hatred.

  Outraged, Lukan looked around instinctively for Morass, but he had come alone, precisely because he didn’t want easy access to his Lord of the Rack while in Meka’s presence. He still wasn’t sure what it was about the blond, blue-eyed boy that riled him so much. His uncertainty fueled a thousand doubts about Kestrel’s plan to grant her savage brat access to the other youth.

  Hoping he wasn’t making a fatal mistake, Lukan took a deep breath and said with faked brightness, “Meka, if you want to fish, then fish. Go wherever you like. Just be back before dinner so I don’t have to worry about you. And, more importantly, balance your time between the living and the . . . gutted.”

  For a brief moment, Meka resembled one of the fish he loved to hook; then he caught himself and rearranged his expression. “What’s the catch? There has to be one.”

  Lukan ignored Meka’s obnoxious—but insightful—question. “I will also be dispensing with your bodyguards.”

  Now both boys stared at him in dumbfounded skepticism.

  “Grigor, you are first in line to my throne. I expect you to bear that in mind so you behave responsibly. Don’t do anything that could jeopardize the succession. In time, you will be the wealthiest, most powerful man on the planet. Never let anyone sway you from that objective.” He cocked his head toward the blond prince. “And you, Meka. As I have already said, be careful. You would not want any mishap that cuts you off in your prime, either.” He ignored Grigor’s questioning frown and Meka’s visual daggers. “You boys are precious.”

  He started to the door but stopped when Grigor called out.

  “Wait! Have I got this right? We’re free?”

  “We’re free, sire, is what I think you meant to say.”

  A fumbled wave of Grigor’s hand as if titles didn’t matter. “Sire, please answer my question.”

  “You never were a prisoner, Grigor. I do understand it’s a lot to take in. But no doubt you will soon ease into it. You and your brother seem to adapt to the odd with remarkable ease.”

  Lukan strode to the door and then stopped to hold up the falconry book he had kept hidden under his arm. “This is mine. I will be returning it where it belongs. I fully expect you to hand it over should it somehow find its way back into this pigsty you two live in.”

  They would learn about the decorators and tailors when a pair of valets arrived to help them dress for the party that evening.

  Not a word from either of them reached his ears as he slowly made his way down the stairs. That was disappointing. He resolved keep them both under the tightest scrutiny while this experiment played out.

  Chapter 35

  Grigor’s new silk shirt rustled as he followed a man—an usher, whatever that was—through unfamiliar halls and passages of the palace. They were headed to Lukan and Kestrel’s party.

  Never in his life had Grigor felt so excited—or so terrified. And that included the night he and Meka had spent up in trees with wolves baying around them. But no matter what happened at this party, he and Meka would stand together.

  After Lukan had left him and Meka in their bedchamber, the day had spiraled down into all kinds of weird.

  First, a horde of people—servants, he had discovered later—had arrived. They had stripped the apartment of everything. Furniture. Clothing. Even their books. He and Meka had only just managed to rescue Meka’s fishing gear. Grigor had been more than happy to see his rods and tackle go.

  But it did mean he had no idea where he was sleeping tonight. Lukan had also sent in two men who called themselves valets or, put another way, snooty bastards who had tried to strip him and Meka as the other servants had their quarters.

  Grigor rubbed his grazed knuckles. The ache was worth the burst of pleasure that had come from lev
eling his arrogant attacker.

  Meka had flattened his assailant, too.

  He and Meka weren’t babies. Since when did they need strangers bathing and dressing them?

  Not that beating up the valets had helped. Once back on their feet, the men had merely called in reinforcements. In the end, he and Meka had acquiesced—on condition that they showered themselves and no stranger saw them naked or tried to dress them. The valets had grudgingly accepted that. Although they had hovered, spewing forth a stream of comments on how to dress while he and Meka got ready for tonight’s party.

  Haircuts had followed the plundering of their apartment. Grigor fingered his dark hair. Neat. That was the best way to describe the cut. None of the jagged steps he always managed to leave when trimming his own hair.

  Meka looked even smarter, but then Meka had never really bothered about his hair. He’d hack away at it when it got too long without much thought for the result.

  All that excitement had pushed the meeting with Tao into the background. That was fine, too, because Grigor wasn’t sure what he thought about his dead father’s disclosures. In light of what had followed their lesson on the bees, Tao’s words seemed horribly prophetic. Grigor didn’t doubt that every word Tao had said about Nicholas was true, too.

  “Why would anyone want to wear such a rough, itchy waistcoat?” Meka, walking next to him, grumbled.

  The usher smiled at Meka. It looked strained. “The material is called brocade, Your Highness, and the dragons are outlined in gold thread.”

  Meka rolled his eyes. “Thanks, but I’m not blind. I can see the gold wire myself. The question is why.”

  “Pure gold trim is befitting a prince, Your Highness. It is what an heir to the Chenayan throne wears.”

  Meka’s eyes bugged. “Pure gold? That’s insane. Why would anyone want to waste pure gold on a stupid waistcoat?”

  The usher fingered his own waistcoat. If Grigor’s limited knowledge of gemstones didn’t fail him, the buttons were made from pearls.