“A bit,” Alador admitted. “I also am trying to decide if I am relieved that I did not know your secret or… if I should be angry with you.” His eyes met Henrick’s with a bit more clarity now. He still could not believe that he had not seen the truth that had been before him the entire time.
“I imagine a bit of both.” Henrick moved cautiously forward and sat on the end of Alador’s bed. Henrick looked down at his own clasped hands with a sigh. “I imagine you are filled with questions. But I suggest that the majority of them wait till the meal is brought to us and the servants depart.” Henrick glanced at the door almost as willing the servant to step through it.
The young mage nodded in agreement with Henrick as he squinted to take the man in fully. He looked him over amazed at what he saw, and what he could not. “When will this flurry of random memories stop? It’s like they are racing by faster than I can grasp or understand them.” Alador blinked a few times to focus on Henrick.
Henrick took a moment before answering. “Your mind has been forced open in an unnatural way, and it's a lot to absorb. I cannot tell you how long it will take, I have never cast an absorption spell until tonight,” Henrick admitted.
Alador ran a hand through his still damp hair as he sat up in the bed. “Why have you not killed Luthian?” The question was curt and clearly expected an answer. With the knowledge he had gained, Alador knew that Henrick was more than capable of beating his uncle.
“I have no desire to lead this city or the counsel. You and I both now know that I have no right to do so.” Henrick smacked a fist into his hand. “If a leader with some moral fiber is not found…” Henrick paused as if choosing the right words. “It was useless to remove Luthian for another would just come along and replace him. Better the evil that I know,” he tried to explain, offering a grim smile.
Alador nodded. His next question was as random as his thoughts. “Are dragons part gods?” Alador asked, hoping to better sort through the mass of confusing information. He should know the answer, but he could not seem to concentrate on any one given memory. They went to see the gods, so it was logical that there was a connection.
“Dragons were created by the power of the gods themselves, each imbued with certain characteristics important to the god that created them,” Henrick answered with a rote tone. He stroked his chin. “But part god? Well, I have never thought about that before,” Henrick admitted.
The random questions were interrupted by the three servants who brought in trays. An assortment of cheeses, cold meat, rolls, and pie was set on the other side of the bed itself for the two men. Another set a pitcher of hard cider and goblets on the table beside the bed.
As two servants left, the original one stopped to the foot of the bed and asked. “Do you wish me to stay and serve you, Lord Henrick?”
Henrick shook his head and waved him off. “We can see to ourselves. Find your beds, for I am leaving in the morning and will need everyone to assist me.” Henrick passed a hand over his face as he rose. “Loading my carriage will take some time.”
“Yes, my lord.” The servant bowed and hurried out of the room.
Before the door had even closed, Henrick moved around the bed and put an assortment on the two provided plates. He handed one over to Alador. Alador took it gratefully; he felt as though he had not eaten in days. He fell on it ravenously, forgetting his many questions for the moment. When Henrick handed him a goblet, he took and drank the contents down all at once. Though it had been Renamaum who had maintained the transformation spell, it was his body that seemed to have paid the costs.
Henrick sat back down on the end of the bed. “Easy lad, your stomach is still mortal though your mind hungers like a dragon. It will take a bit to sort that out,” Henrick admonished, holding his own stomach.
“Yes, let us speak of that. What should I call you? Henrick, Father, Friend...” Alador met Henrick’s eyes evenly. “...Or Keensight?”
The silence that fell into the room was palpable. Tension filled the air between them as the truth finally surfaced, its blaring meanings shouting so much between them. Henrick finally waved a hand at Alador in dismissal as he gathered up his own food. The only sign of his discomfort was that he did not look up at the younger mage.
“Let us keep it at Henrick or Father.” Henrick took a bite as if the matter were not important.
Alador knew that Henrick was worried. The casual relaxed manner of the man was absent. “How is it possible?" Alador pressed in a hushed tone. "Are you even my father?”
Henrick set his plate aside and drained his goblet before answering. “I suppose it is time for me to tell you the whole story,” Henrick said with a sigh. He rose and filled his goblet, then held the pitcher out to Alador.
“With no lies…” Alador insisted as he held out his goblet.
“With no lies,” Henrick promised as he filled the globlet then returned the pitcher. He moved about the bed and sat down. “Do you remember the story I told you of how I met Keensight?”
“Yes, but you are Keensight so that story was not, at least, entirely true.” Alador frowned at the man before him. How had he not seen the signs that Henrick was so much more than he had seemed?
“It was mostly true.” He waved his hands as the word mostly left his lips. “The original Henrick did attempt to spare his life by pointing out that Lerdenians were hardly tasty, and that he would stick in my throat.” Henrick did not look at Alador as he spoke. His voice was soft and measured as he stared into the distance, seemingly unfocused.
“Which of you is my father?” Alador asked with concern. Had he been half dragon before he was even born? He watched as the man sat back down on the far end of the bed.
“Henrick Guldalian sired you. However, I would say I have been more of a father than he ever was.” Henrick defended. His vision snapped back from wherever his mind had went, and he picked back up his plate.
“Where is he?” Alador was gripping his goblet tightly, his fingers were white with the anxiety of the question. “Did you eat him?” The question was more of an accusation.
As if the thought hurt, Henrick swallowed audibly. “Goodness no, he might have truly stuck in my craw.” Henrick stated with alarm. “No, he lived with me for a time. My prisoner I guess.” Henrick looked up at Alador. “I killed him once I had what I needed to replace him.”
“You ... killed ... my father.” Alador’s words were grasping at these truths, trying to sort their meanings. He should be angry with Keensight, or feel horrified and betrayed that the man that he had called his father had killed his true sire. Yet, as he searched himself, he was not.
Henrick rushed to follow that. “He was truly as awful as Luthian, I assure you. He was everything you have accused me of and more. You would have been led by two men with no capacity for kindness unless it benefits them.” Henrick waved his fork madly. “I swear by all the gods that I care for you and your mother more than he was ever capable of and… I do see you as my fledgling.”
Alador was quiet for a long time. He let Henrick sit there with his suspended fork as he sorted these revelations. He remembered Renamaum’s sorrow at the pain that Keensight had shown when his egg was stolen. Being called his fledgling, well that was no small matter.
Finally, the younger mage looked up at Henrick. “How, and why, did you replace him? I could only maintain Renamaum’s form for a short time.”
“I went to Kronos, the god, and asked for help. I wanted revenge at first, for all that was taken from me. It was not just my own loss, but I blamed myself for Renamaum’s death. He had left the council so angry.” Henrick set the plate aside and stood. “I thought if I could get close enough to Luthian, that killing him would repair everything,” he stated, a sound of remorse tinged his words. “They gifted me with a spell that allows me to hold this form with minimal effort,” he added as an afterthought.
“But you didn’t kill him… what happened?” Alador was carefully taking in this new version of family history. He was n
ot sure how he felt about all of this.
“I …” Henrick took a deep breath as he stood up. “In exchange for the ability to use this form, Kronos demanded I wait a year before I take any action.” He turned away from Alador and walked to the window.
Alador had to know. “It has been over a year…” Henrick interrupted before he could even finish his question.
“I met you,” Henrick admitted as he turned back to look at Alador. “I met your mother. I met the Daezun. I realized that Luthian would just be replaced by someone as equally ... despicable,” he spat out. Henrick pulled a square of linen from his pocket and wiped his face. “So that is when I started searching for Renamaum’s dragonsworn. I never dreamed it would be you,” he said.
Both men were quiet for some time before Alador broke the heavy silence. “So now what?”
Henrick moved back to the bed and put a hand on Alador’s shoulder. “Now that ... is... is up to you. If you do not wish my help because of the secrets that I have kept, I will return to my life as a dragon, and you will not see me again.” Henrick paused and cleared his throat. “I do truly see you as my fledgling Alador and … would like to continue to act in your father’s stead.”
“You killed my father,” Alador repeated, still searching for how he felt about this.
“I did,” Henrick confirmed solidly. He sat back down and returned to picking at his plate.
Alador realized that Keensight…Henrick… whatever name he went by, was not sorry for killing Alador’s real father. He thought about his geas. He thought about Luthian and what would have happened if his natural father had discovered his son’s geas or power? As he thought back, he realized that he knew when Keensight had come as Henrick. He had always hoped that the change to a doting father had been because his father had finally accepted Alador as his son. He then connected that this meant that Keensight had made a conscious choice to foster his enemy’s fledgling. He thought carefully about all the things that Keensight, in dragon or mortal form, had taught him. The changes on his face must have been readable for he heard a soft sigh of relief from the end of the bed.
He did not intend to let the dragon off quite that easily. “You let me make a fool of myself at your cave when you knew all along. And the lake, Pruatra knew too, didn’t she?” Alador’s eyes widened. His gaze faltered; his eyes shifting back and forth as the memories flurried about in his mind. The kaleidoscope of images was now starting to slow down, and now individually moments surfaced as he spoke rather than the rush that he had been experiencing.
“I will admit it, was rather fun… your meeting of my other self.” Henrick grinned at him. “But I had to do it that way or admit my secret and I … well, you weren’t ready to hear it.”
Alador considered that Renamaum had known, too, and had not let on. “I suppose that learning that the man acting as your father is a dragon would have been a bit much when we first left Smallbrook,” Alador conceded.
Henrick stood up and placed his plate on the sideboard. “I will let you sleep on all this. Tomorrow, I leave, you will need to decide if it is permanently, or if we continue with our plan.” He put a firm hand on Alador’s arm. “The choice will be yours. I will understand regardless of your decision.” As if the moment held too much emotion for him, Henrick turned and strode for the door.
“Keensight,” Alador called, looking up at the mage’s back.
The man stopped, his posture stiffened at Alador’s use of the name. The older man turned to look back at Alador. “Yes?”
“I don’t need to sleep on it,” Alador said. “I cannot think of a better father for a pseudo-dragon … than another dragon.”
Henrick’s smile grew from a small grin to a full tooth filled smile. “I will still let you rest. We will speak before I leave and you return to the caverns.” Henrick, with a much lighter step, left the room.
Alador finished a second plate before he laid back against his pillow. There was so much in his head now. The one thing he knew for certain: he felt much more confident about his geas than he had the day before. With a wave of his hand, he snuffed the candles.
Chapter Eleven
The High Minister of Silverport stood staring out the window of his office. His gaze was on the glistening city below as he replayed one more possible scenario. Luthian was as prepared to meet with the council as was possible. Today he would ask for Alador to be tested. Only if he passed his test, could Luthian have him assigned to the High Minister’s personal retinue as the boy had not completed full training in the Blackguard. He did not need the boy battle trained. Luthian needed him at hand for his own use to unite the isle.
A feminine hand touched his arm and he frowned. “You realize that you are the only female that could touch me without my express permission.” Though his tone was meant to tease, there was an edge of seriousness to it.
Lady Morana moved around him; her rounded curves were accentuated by the belted silken robe. “I am hardly just … any ... female, my lord,” she purred as she moved her hands to his chest. Her husky emphasis of the word ‘any’ held an exaggerated caress. She pressed her body to his as she eyed him through her long lashes. “Where are you off to today that you make such a striking appearance?”
Luthian took her hands and stepped back, putting some distance between them. “Do not presume that because you share my bed that you are entitled to all my designs and plans,” he said, the coldness of his tone contrasted greatly with the warmth of hers. Her cloying nature irritated him, and she presumed far too much. Now that he thought about it, she wore too much perfume as well. It was heavy, like the herbs used at funerals.
“You and I both know that at times I am far more, and the power that is wielded far greater,” she said. She met Luthian’s eyes proudly. She squeezed his hands and attempted to pull her own free.
Luthian let her hands pull from his, offering no resistance. “Yes, my dear woman, but today you do not bear the Goddess; you are but her vessel on this plane,” he reminded her. He really had no respect for this woman. Her mistress was a whole different matter. After all, how often did a man get to say that he had bedded a goddess?
“For now…” she drawled. Though her words acceded to his point, her tone held a mild edge of a threat.
Luthian moved swiftly. His hands tangled in her hair as he jerked her close looking down into her amber eyes. Their faces were so close that he could smell his sex on her luscious lips. Her eyes glistened with excitement rather than fear, and her gasp of pleasure only further incensed him.
“Your Goddess and I have an arrangement that is mutually beneficial. You, are but the sweet wrapping that does her will. Do not think for a moment that she or I could not find another to do her bidding.”
Rather than the fear that he was used to seeing at such rough handling, this intoxicating woman’s eyes glimmered with triumph. “We could do much, both of us, if we were further joined in purpose. Imagine what our combined skills and power could accomplish,” she purred up at him.
Luthian released her hair with disgust. Despite her offer and her obvious skill as a death mage, he roughly thrust her away from him, watching with satisfaction as she stumbled back and fell onto her knees. “I would rather bond with a Daezun than join in purpose with a whoring priestess,” he said, his voice dripping with his loathing. “How many others have shared your bed for the power or wealth that they would gift upon you?” He found her truly worse than a whore, for at least with a whore you knew what you were buying. This woman, unlike most death mages, used sex much as a spider used a web. He watched coldly as Morana crawled to him, looking up suggestively from her knees.
Her well-formed lips were set into a pout as her large luminous eyes gazed up at him unblinking. “You have hardly complained in our many times together,” she pointed out, pulling up his robe hem teasingly as her hands slowly slid beneath and trailed up to his thighs.
Luthian looked down with an arrogant twist of lips. He trailed the toe of his boot up between
her heavy breasts. “Just because a whore is the best in her craft does not mean a man need have her meddle in his affairs.” Luthian scoffed. He put the boot fully to her chest and pushed her off him. “I am expected in council, off me wench,” he snarled as she fell back. He actually liked her splayed before him in such a manner; her raven hair spread about her on the floor. The robe had slid open hinting at all her charms without revealing them.
Morana finally looked insulted. She glared up at him. “How dare you insult me so!” she exclaimed with genuine disbelief.
Luthian looked down at her for a long moment. “I dare a great many things.” He turned and moved towards the door. He stopped and paused as he considered his own words. “Speaking of which, your temple has had my patronage long enough.” He gave her a genuine smile in response to the fear that he saw flicker in her eyes. So she feared the loss of his slips and ear, did she? “The reports I have on your comings and goings indicate you are accumulating wealth. You obviously do not need mine any longer.” He shook his robe as if she had dirtied it.
Morana’s eyes grew wide with alarm. She rose to her feet. No longer the teasing wanton woman from just moments before, her hands curled into fists. “Dethara will not be pleased to learn of your words,” she growled out.
Luthian eyes roved over the priestess. He sighed as he realized at that moment how truly unattractive a woman she was. “Dethara is welcome to speak to me of these matters when she returns.” He headed for the door. He stopped as he opened the door to look back at her. “Be gone when I return,” he ordered and tossed a slip at her feet. He smiled at her indignant gasp as he shut the door behind him.
Luthian strode forward with confidence. He had finally had the wherewithal to put that woman in her place. She was but an avatar; one not deserving any reverence when the Goddess was not with her. Alador’s suggestion that he cut his patronage had been well made.
Before he even reached the door, he could hear the murmuring voices from within. Something had stirred up the wasp of nests. He forced a smile onto his face and strode into the council. The council mages all rose when he entered to acknowledge his position. He waved for them to all sit as he took the head chair at the table with an air of bored indifference.
Pseudo-Dragon (The Blue Dragon's Geas Book 4) Page 10
