The Dragon's Throne

by Emily L K

  She snapped her eyes shut and once more searched in vain.

  Gently, his voice was like a breeze through her mind. She tried to catch him but he once again vanished from her awareness. She wanted to scream in frustration. Instead, she took a deep breath and let herself sink into the music of her own Hum. The disjointed noise at first overwhelmed her and she realised that she had been subconsciously pushing her own magic away for the past few months. She let it flow over her and could instantly pluck at threads in her song. She found a familiar one and followed it. When she found him she placed her question on the thread that joined them, pushing it towards him.

  Why do you test the other children?

  For the sole reason of manipulating powerful and influential children into toeing the line. Hiram magic is different to the Hum. It is like a smouldering flame that can flare up in an instant. They use their magic physically; a swipe of the hand can knock a person down and a clench of the fist can strangle them, all without touching the person. He demonstrated the movements with his own hands as he spoke. Because their magic is an immediate internal reaction, not a building of natural energy or weaving of songs, it is weaker than ours and in single combat they are easily overcome.

  Their strength lies in their pack mentality; if enough Hiram attack a Dijem at once it becomes difficult to fend them off. I test the children and take the strongest Hiram as my own and separate them from their parents. I intervene in their teachings at home by bringing them here to brainwash them with nothing at all. I fill their heads with rubbish like estate management and instrument lessons and I wash it down their throats with wine and dresses and parties. Rarely do I need to persuade them magically; that’s how blind their social status makes them.

  I’ve never seen a Hiram perform magic, Cori observed, wondering why that was. Their magic was spoken about often enough in the history books.

  And you won’t around me. They know their magic is dangerous and fuelled by negative emotions. They know that if I caught them using it I would obliterate them, so they practice it in secret, passing the knowledge down through families. It has served my purposes well. Knowledge of how to use the magic effectively in groups is limited except where the States have official soldiers, which is moderated.

  Cori was silent for a while, thinking over what he had told her. Her view of the Hiram had been completely turned on its head. They were not the glittering, awe-inspiring race she had always thought them to be; they were dangerous and brutish. She suddenly understood the other children’s aversion to her; it was not because she was human; it was because she was a threat to their secret societies.

  One thing had not changed though; she was still afraid of them.

  Why can’t they remember you being at the intake trials? She asked after a while. Rowan set his pencil down and gestured to a chair opposite his desk. She perched on the edge of it, hands folded in her lap. From this angle she had an unobstructed view of his work. The lines he drew were forming a map. He studied her for a moment, his fingers drumming on the desk.

  “I altered their memories so they wouldn’t remember.” The drumming of his fingers paused and instead moved to the selection of pencils beside the map. “I’ve never been to an intake trial before. I only went to that one to meet you.”

  Cori folded her lips to keep them from smiling. She trained her eyes on her hands in her lap, hoping the Karalis wouldn’t notice the flush of pleasure creeping up her neck. Her chest swelled with importance at the thought of him being so eager to flush her out of the ranks of servants.

  Do you have any other questions? Rowan prompted, returning to the Hum. He selected a blue pencil began shading the eastern side of his map.

  How old are you? Cori asked the question genuinely but was rewarded by a mental nudge akin to a playful jab in the ribs.

  Didn’t you know it is rude to ask a Dijem his age? Come, let’s start some lessons while we still have time.

  And so they did. Rowan put Cori through some strenuous mental exercises that left her exhausted and battling a headache, but at the end of the morning she could sense when he was reaching out to speak to her. She could also place where he was in the room when her eyes were closed by following the Hum thread that connected them.

  The green dragon returned to her dreams that night as vicious as ever. Mentally exhausted, she couldn’t summon the energy to weave the dragon song effectively. Morning found her with bruises blooming up her arm and over her shoulder.

  Chapter Eleven

  In the following months, Cori and Rowan fell into an easy friendship. The concept was foreign to Cori, who had never had true friends beyond the kitchen hands and washer boys she‘d played with as a child.

  Rowan made it simple. He had an easygoing nature and expected nothing more from her than to put her best efforts towards learning to use the Hum. She suspected that he relished the companionship after so many years of solitude; and of course that gave her an odd sense of pride that he wanted to spend his time with her.

  They spent most days in his rooms. He had her read books on the history of the Dijem, helping her with her spelling and vocabulary along the way. She found some of the stories confusing and contradictory to each other. Rowan told her that immortal histories were often subject to the pressures of time. If scribes didn’t find something important enough to make copies of, then the information was lost.

  “Immortal histories are subject to the pressures of time,” he explained when she questioned it. “If scribes didn’t find something important enough to make copies of, then the information is lost.”

  “Couldn’t you write down the histories?" Cori asked. Rowan looked distinctly uncomfortable.

  “I’m not that old in the scheme of things," he offered then held up his hand to stop her from asking once more about his age as she often did when moments like these came up. Instead he added. “And I don’t like writing about myself. There’s plenty of historians who study me and they get enough of what they write correct.”

  They played mental games to quicken her response to the Hum, and he taught her to weave songs. They were simple songs; ones to stave off fatigue in herself and another to lower barriers around her mind to block her Hum from other Dijem. He emphasised the need to know the melodies so intimately that she could cast them in her sleep.

  “In battle,” he explained, “you don’t want to be remembering the notes in your defensive songs. The speed at which you can weave them could be the difference between life and death.”

  “Would it ever come to that? Battle I mean.”

  He smiled at her question but she couldn’t dismiss the weariness in his eyes when he replied. “I hope not, but then, we never expected something like the Last Fight to decimate our race. It’s better to prepare for anything, I think.”

  Some mornings he hadn’t been there, called away to hear the qualms of some nobleman or another. On days like this he would always leave an apologetic note and a book out for her to read. More often than not she would clean his suite for him.

  He kept it tidy to discourage any servant-like response from her, but she always found things he’d skipped over; she washed the great windows that overlooked his garden and the ocean from every eastern point in the suite, she wiped dust from the various tables and artifacts around his room and she aired the linen. If he noticed the extra cleaning she did, he never mentioned it.

  The first day of winter found them sitting in his garden at a little wrought-iron table, drinking coffee. The dark brew had always been a servant’s drink - too bitter for the delicate stomachs of the Hiram apparently, but when she‘d mentioned it in passing, Rowan’s eyes had lit up.

  “You have coffee?” He’d exclaimed. “Can you bring me one? It’s been so long since I’ve had one. I didn‘t realise the kitchens stock it.”

  And so when Cori arrived at the kitchens the following morning to collect the Karalis’ breakfast tray, she‘d bullied Saasha into making a coffee to go with it.

  “Since
when does he drink coffee? He’s always had tea!” Saasha had been in a flap over the request, which Cori had worded carefully so they didn‘t think she‘d spoken to him directly.

  “I don’t know, Saasha, he’s asked for one so just make it!”

  And so she had; her specialty coffee with cinnamon on top went on the tray and to the Karalis’ suite. Normally disinclined to touch anything on his breakfast tray while Cori was around, Rowan had gone straight for the aromatic mug beside the teapot.

  “Amazing,” he sighed after a lingering sip. “The cinnamon just tops it off. Do you think you could wrangle one of these for me each morning?”

  And so overnight Saasha had become famous for her cinnamon coffees. The Karalis had been served one in a meeting with the Head of Hale and the moment the Hiram delegates had seen their leader’s change in taste they‘d also requested coffee as their preferred drink. The Hiram prided themselves in maintaining the latest trends and this one had spread like a fire through the House of Auksas and Lautan. Before long, Saasha had to give up cooking to be a full-time barista.

  “Recite the magical strengths and limitations between the races.” Cori studied her mug. The coffee was almost gone, and she wished desperately for another, just to keep her warm.

  It was an unusually overcast day and a sea breeze was blowing over the cliffs and through the tangled and thorny garden. The cold did nothing to ease Cori’s bruising and stiffness from her nightmares with the green dragon.

  The damaging dreams were not as frequent as before, and most nights she could defeat the dragon with her Hum, but the previous night had been brutal. She knew she needed to raise the topic with Rowan, and she planned to do it today. She‘d learned her lesson last time, what the dragons were capable of when she didn’t seek help. But first she’d answer his question.

  “Humans have no magical ability themselves but do have a life force that, if offered, a Dijem may draw additional energy from.

  “The Hiram’s magic is physical and can therefore affect the other races, including their own. Their magic is weak when used in solos but as a group their attacks can prove deadly.

  “Dijem magic is the strongest magic. It’s created by drawing energy from the self and willing vessels close by and weaving it into spells and songs. It‘s a mental magic and therefore is more effective the closer the target is, but can be used at a distance. The magic is most effective on the Hiram race, whose minds are open and susceptible. The Hum also works on other Dijem, but they can be aware of when a song is being woven and therefore have a natural defence against harmful spells. The Hum, oddly enough, doesn’t affect the human race. They have an undefined mental block that stops songs being woven on or around them.” She paused, thinking back over her recital to ensure she’d done it correctly, then nodded.

  “Good,” Rowan said. He took a sip of his coffee and Cori seized his moment of silence to speak.

  “I need to talk to you about something,” she said the words quickly, and he raised an eyebrow at her. Carefully, he set his mug on the table.

  “That sounds ominous.”

  “It isn’t... Well, perhaps a little.” She took a deep breath and she noticed the muscles in his jaw tighten to avoid pressing her on. She hurried her next words. “I’ve been dreaming about the green dragon again.”

  “Show me,” he said, interpreting her words correctly. She pushed up her sleeve to bare her forearm. It was mottled in shades of yellow, purple and blue. Beneath it were the two neat, silvery scars of her previous disastrous encounter.

  Rowan reached over and smoothed his hand up her arm. He didn’t apply pressure, but she could feel her own body’s stiffness under his touch. He reached her elbow and stopped.

  “How far does it go?”

  Cori blushed, pushing his hand away. He narrowed his eyes, and she sighed.

  “Across my stomach. I managed to protect my chest. It hit me front on.” She didn’t meet his eyes, but thankfully he didn’t ask to see those bruises.

  “I can try to heal them, if you like.”

  “You can heal? With the Hum?” She asked incredulously. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because I’m not very good at it. In fact, I don’t even know if I can. It takes a lot of dedication to learn how to heal. Jarrah is exceptional at it, but she is - or was - over ten thousand years old.”

  “There’s no harm in trying, I suppose,” Cori didn’t admit that she was more eager to hear the healing song than to be healed. Rowan seemed dubious, but he reached out - with both hands this time - and covered her forearm with them.

  “You’ll have to let me in,” he warned. She could feel the intensity of his Hum increase. She lifted the light barriers on her own Hum that he’d been making her keep in place to practice.

  She felt his presence immediately, not just in her mind, but flooding through her entire body. She gasped at the intimacy of it and almost withdrew. When she felt him pull back at her aversion to his presence she stopped.

  Keep going, she told him, I was just shocked.

  He paused then pushed forward, centreing his attention on her arm. She distracted herself by listening to the song he was weaving. It was intricate and intense; she understood none of the notes but she felt a calmness overcome her, one that reminded her of her mother.

  She hadn’t realised she’d closed her eyes until he vanished suddenly from her mind. She opened them, blinking in the overly bright light of day. Rowan had removed his hands from her arm and was sitting with his chin resting on his fist, staring thoughtfully out across the ocean. She examined his work and her eyebrows rose, surprised and delighted to see the bruising on her skin gone.

  “Did it work?” He asked without looking at her. She flexed her arm experimentally.

  “It’s still stiff and sore,” she admitted. Rowan was quiet for a moment longer, then surprised her with a snort of laughter.

  “Rowan of the House of Auksas, Karalis of Tauta and Discolourer of Bruises,” he laughed again and this time Cori joined in. They jested back and forth for a time before Rowan fell suddenly serious.

  “This isn’t the first time since we began your training that the dragon has attacked you.” It was a statement, one that Cori winced at. He continued to stare out at the horizon as he spoke. “I could feel your older bruises across your shoulders, back and legs.” He turned suddenly, pinning her to her chair with hard, golden eyes. It had been quite a while since he’d assessed her so frankly and it startled her. “Why don’t you talk to me, Cori? I’ve never been cruel or judgmental, particularly in this, so why is it that you continue to keep things from me when you know I might be able to help you?”

  Cori sat back, mortified that he’d come to that conclusion. She’d been scared to tell him, yes, but not because he’d slighted her.

  “It‘s not a matter of trust,” she began and Rowan’s eyes narrowed, “it’s because I was afraid you wouldn’t train me anymore. It’s only on nights after we try a new song, or do strenuous mental exercises that it happens. I don’t want to stop learning because of it.”

  Rowan closed his eyes and sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

  “I don’t know what to do,” he said quietly. “To be honest, I’ve never seen anything like this before. Since you came to me that first night, I’ve been searching all the histories, and wracking my brain to find the reason you’re having such vivid dreams but I’ve come up short. I don’t want to stop your training, but neither can we go on like this. It’s only a matter of time before something more serious happens, something we won’t be able to repair.”

  He opened his eyes and Cori watched his pupils retract in the light. She felt numb. She’d assumed that these sorts of dreams were something that most Dijem experienced... or at least some of them. To be the only one left a fearsome lump in her stomach. She abruptly stood.

  “Cori,” Rowan begged, standing as well, “don’t go.”

  “I have to, the Advisor will be here soon. It’s time for me to leave.
” Cori collected both mugs in her cold fingers and without another word, she evaded his pleas entered the receiving room.

  The Advisor was already waiting there. Cori stopped short when she noticed him, wondering if she had time to back out of the room. But it was too late; as if drawn to her presence, he pivoted slowly on the balls of his feet to face her. When his eyes alighted on her, his lips slowly curled into a sneer. With one glance he noticed the comforting shawl across her shoulders, the pink of her cheeks from being in the cold wind for too long and the pair of coffee mugs in her hands.

  “Well,” the Advisor said matter-of-factly. Not knowing what else to do, Cori bowed low.

  “Good morning, Advisor, sir,” she said, hoping there was nothing more in her voice than polite surprise. She straightened and, with a furtive glance to see that he was still sneering at her, she moved across the room to the abandoned breakfast tray and placed the mugs on it.

  She hadn‘t expected him to follow her so when she turned to find his face inches away from hers, she had to force herself not to take a step back.

  “Don’t think for a moment I don’t know what goes on here,” his voice was dangerously pleasant. Cori’s heart skipped a beat, and she was sure the cold horror she felt showed on her face by the way his sneer widened to a malicious grin. She wondered exactly how much he knew; was it just that she was having lessons here or did he suspect the full extent of her magical abilities?

  “I know you ferret away here, plotting to undermine this establishment. You may have worked out that the Karalis is a means to an end for the throne, but do not think for a second you can so easily sway him to your cause... Or that I won’t do everything in my power to bring you down.”

  Cori felt her panic fade; he hadn’t guessed their secret. But her moment of relief was short lived as the full impact of his words hit her. He suspected her of having ambitions for the throne. While the notion seemed preposterous to her, the fact that he had voiced his suspicions aloud meant that the assumed threat was very real to him - and possibly others - and that he was openly declaring himself as her enemy.