House of Dragons

by Jessica Cluess

  “Where did you come from?” Lucian snapped.

  “Uh, the hedge. Obviously.” Ajax scowled, brushed fallen leaves from his jacket, and traipsed around the balcony, arms out in a balancing act. When the boy came to a trellis overgrown with ivy, he shook it, made sure it’d hold, and started climbing the damn thing.

  “Where are you going?” Lucian demanded, unsteady on his feet. Ajax glanced over his shoulder.

  “Uh, upstairs. Obviously.” He scoffed. “Ease up on the wine, pal. How many have you had?”

  “Just one!” Lucian shouted as the kid hopped onto the balcony above them and went on his merry way.

  “Why can’t he use the stairs?” Emilia asked quietly.

  “There are so many mysteries in this world.” On impulse, Lucian grabbed her and hugged her to him. “You can keep th’cloak,” he murmured, bending to whisper in her ear. Her hair tickled his cheek. “Stay warm. I’m, um, so glad we’re friends.”

  “Me too.” Emilia sighed. Lucian grinned.

  “Imma go talk to my father now.” Lucian’s tongue was clumsy, his balance off-kilter as he released Emilia. Ajax had a point. How could he be this tipsy after only one glass of wine? Perhaps he hadn’t eaten enough. “Wait here. By hedge. This will be our secret hedge.”

  “Lucian.” Emilia clutched his arm to steady him. “I’m…I’m really sorry.”

  Sorry he was making a colossal ass of himself? Ah well. To get through this night, he’d be as ass as possible. As ass as. He tried not to laugh as he strode back into the ballroom and through the sea of dancers, tripping over boots while he bungled to the exit. Grumbles littered behind him as he crashed into the hall, feeling rather wonderful. Screw all of them.

  “What are you doing?” Lord Sabel wore an expression of horror on his oddly out-of-focus face. “Did everyone see you like this?”

  Lucian blinked. He didn’t remember getting to his family’s sitting chamber. Every one of the five families had been given a parlor of their own, a private place to deal with the competitors. Lucian rubbed a fist into his eye. Why did his father appear so blurry?

  “I had one drink.” He put all his effort into not slurring his words and accidentally missed the chair when he sat down. Sprawled on the floor with an oof, Lucian scowled at his father and sister, who wore matched looks of disapproval.

  “Good. On top of being a coward, you’re a lightweight,” Dido grumbled. She was wearing a cerulean gown in the Karthagon style, one shoulder bare, a slit in the skirt up to her knee. Her broad shoulders pulled back as she glared at him. Lucian glimpsed that jeweled dagger hilt at her side.

  “Coward? You’re the one who’s afraid to pull a knife, Dido,” he growled, though he took her hand to help him up. Sneering, she got in his face.

  “Believe me, if it weren’t for Father, I’d have followed Hyperia’s lead! She at least knows how to get what she wants.”

  “Seems about right.” He bared his teeth. “We all know you don’t have any qualms about killing children.”

  Fury lit her copper eyes as Lucian wavered on his feet, and he wondered how exactly he’d gotten to this room and why, no matter what, he and Dido always seemed ready to do battle.

  “Stop it, both of you!” their father boomed. The twins didn’t listen.

  “This is what I hate about you most,” Dido snarled. “You act like you’re the only one who ever felt pain in your life! My grief for Mother could never match yours. I had to keep twice as calm on the battlefield because you were always falling to pieces.” Dido sneered. “I wish I could be weak like you.”

  “I’m sorry you see repentance as weak, Di.” He stepped toward her…and tripped. His father put Lucian’s arm around his shoulders.

  “Why are you here, son?” The worst part was how tired his father sounded. Tired, yet gentle.

  That hurt worse than any blade.

  “Suppose I felt good and wanted to spend time in the warm embrace of my family.” He shook his father off. “Foolish idea.”

  “What have you done to build relations with the other Houses? What is your strategy?” His father now sounded strained.

  Strategies. Alliances. Give something, get something, sell a piece of yourself to move ahead. Destroy whatever you needed to—whomever you must—to win that prize. That was all that he should focus upon, wasn’t it? The win. The kill.

  It made Lucian wish he were drunker.

  “Nothing,” Lucian muttered. Dido swore and sat down hard on a couch. She was done with him. Hector rubbed his forehead.

  “The first thing we’ll do is reach out to the Aurun. Castor was always so fond of you when you were a boy—”

  “That’s Emilia’s family!” Lucian loomed over his father. He was not afraid to use his height in order to make a point. “We won’t steal her parents out from under her. Father, I thought you liked Emilia.”

  “I care for Emilia tremendously.” His father placed a hand in the crook of Lucian’s elbow. It was tender, that touch. “But our options are limited. We’ll never budge the Volscia, and the Pentri hate us on principle because of your mother.” At the mere mention of his wife, Hector’s voice faltered. “You have such potential, Lucian. You could win this on your war record alone—”

  Lucian sat down hard on the couch. His father knelt beside him.

  “I committed atrocities. We did.” He glared at his father’s kindly face. “I won’t take pride in that.”

  Hector sighed. “I will never abandon hope of you, Lucian.”

  Hope. Even when his father had locked him in a cell, admonished him before the whole camp, that hope had remained. Lucian had been forced to listen to his father’s muffled cries afterward in his tent. Hector couldn’t bear to punish his children, but he would never shirk duty. Not even for their sake.

  “And I will never forgive you,” Lucian grunted. He felt raw.

  “How dare you?” Dido snapped, but Lucian’s father held up his hand. He smiled.

  “That doesn’t matter, because I love you, my son.” His father bowed his head, the copper-gold braid of Sabel hair slipping over his shoulder. “No matter how much you hurt me, my love will never change.”

  Lucian remembered standing in the snow, the world on fire around him. Back then, Hector’s eyes had also been sad and loving. Lucian gripped his father’s shoulder and whispered in his ear, “You’re the best man I’ve ever known, Father.” He gritted his teeth. “That’s why it hurts that you’re the worst, as well.”

  Emilia tried to banish thought of Lucian as the guards announced her into Tiber’s presence, but he nagged at her heart. Spiking his wine had been such a simple thing. Some of that viterian root from the island had proved useful after all. Logic dictated that, after Hyperia, Lucian would be the most attractive to the Houses as a potential emperor. He was strong, a leader, a seasoned warrior; of course they’d want him over a mumbling bookworm with tangled hair. She’d needed to embarrass him enough to lessen his appeal.

  He…he truly did want to do good, didn’t he?

  The rosewood and citrus scent of his cape around her; the warmth of his body; the way his breath had tickled her cheek when he whispered in her ear…

  You will never have that. Focus.

  “Oh, the Aurun girl. What do you want?” Tiber grumbled, bored with her already. She stood in his appointed parlor and watched the old man pour more wine from a nearly empty carafe. “Get lost looking for your parents?”

  “I’ve come with a proposition, my lord.”

  “Eh. Not sure you’re the type we like proposing,” Lysander grumbled. He and his idiot brother had congregated near the window. Emilia ignored them.

  “What do you want?” Lord Tiber asked.

  “No. What do you want?” Emilia pulled up a chair and sat before him, hands folded daintily in her lap. The urge to rub her fingers or fidget with
her sleeves was overwhelming. “Your territory lacks resources, there are constant skirmishes on your borders, and you are the second-poorest House in the empire. Behind my family’s, of course.” Emilia waited as Lord Tiber scratched his scuzzy chin. “What if I could change your circumstances?”

  Tiber snorted, and so did his sons. “No offense, girly, but how would you know what it takes to rule my land better than me?”

  “It’s not your land I’m interested in.” Emilia pressed forward. “It’s your rocks.” She got an appropriately silent response. “Wroclawia is a region that boasts many different types of geographic features, yes? Wide plains, valleys. The Empire’s Trident, in particular, has three mountain ranges all radiating from the same point of—”

  “I’m losing patience, girly.”

  “You’re sitting on a fortune, and you don’t know it.” Emilia stood, forcing her hands not to pluck at her skirts. Now she had their attention. “I’ve studied the reports on the material that makes up a large basin in your western territory. A certain type of shale. Fine-grained sedimentary rocks that, when mined and correctly processed and heated, become oil.” At the word oil, Tiber’s eyes widened. When he struggled to pretend nonchalance, she knew she had him. “That’s right. You’re sitting on oil enough to light the entire empire for generations to come. That kind of economic power could make the Sabels’ trade look trifling in comparison.” Her heart thundered as she leaned forward. “Back me as empress. I’ll divert resources away from our wars of expansion and help you turn your territory into the greatest profit source this empire has ever known.” She felt giddy now, ready to dance through the halls. Watching a man’s face slacken as he realized she was right was power beyond anything sexual or magical.

  “Tell me.” Tiber’s eyes took on a hard light. “Suppose I backed Hyperia and then mined as I please when she’s on the throne?”

  Emilia had anticipated this. “Have you forgotten the second edict of the Treaty of Interdependence?” The imperial constitution, written by the Empress Ismene I, guaranteed rights and privileges to the five Houses. “ ‘The head of a House shall rule the vassals upon his or her land with supremacy. However, the empire’s land itself shall forever belong to one individual: the celestial being who occupies the dragon throne.’ ” Emilia smiled as Tiber frowned. “Therefore, the basin itself belongs to the emperor. Tell me, do you think Hyperia will divert resources away from expansion, help you mine for shale, and then permit you to keep most of the profit instead of filling the imperial coffers?” She tsked.

  “You’ve made your point,” Tiber grumbled. He watched her with a narrow expression, a finger to his lips. “All right,” he said.

  “And?”

  “I don’t think so.” He jutted his chin. “For all I know, this is a story you made up. I admire that—don’t get me wrong—but I can’t trust you. Even if you are right, there might not be as much oil as you say there is, and I could end up wrecking my chance at a Volscia alliance.”

  “Hyperia is insane,” Emilia said gently. Tiber snorted.

  “She’s…high-strung.” He licked his lips. “Cute quality in a girl.” Emilia wanted to wipe the slime of his very presence off her skin. “Her daddy’ll get her under control, and then we’ll do business. I’m waiting until she enhances the deal. Sorry, sweets.” Tiber winked at her; Emilia wanted to vomit. “You wasted your time.”

  In a perfect world, she’d explode this pustule and leave bits smattered upon the walls, gobbets of him dangling from the chandelier.

  “Hyperia’s ‘daddy’ tried reasoning with her after they left your presence. She threw him against the wall and told him she’d have his head when she took the dragon throne.” Tiber looked to his two sons, neither of whom seemed to know what to say. “She is out of anyone’s control now, my lord,” Emilia continued. “A person capable of killing her own sister in cold blood is capable of following any action, no matter how extreme, to its conclusion. I am much more reasonable.” Emilia stood her ground and let her gaze meet the lord’s. Her chaos, which had thankfully slept soundly this evening, began to stir. She imagined herself holding it down by its neck, telling it no. Establishing herself as dominant, not the other way around.

  Because she was dominant now. Lord Tiber evaluated her. His sons, who had previously mocked her, now listened.

  She was doing this.

  She could do this.

  Her future—and the future of all the other wretched, chaotic children—rested on these next few minutes.

  “How do we know it’s true?” Lysander asked.

  “The story is getting around to all the nobles at the party. You may ask anyone you like,” she replied. Servants spread gossip like rats spread disease—that’s what her mother had once said. Emilia didn’t love the comparison, but she had to acknowledge the point. “The Pentri know. It’s lessened their interest in the Volscia. You both are allied in so many other ways. Why not here?”

  “You can speak for them on that?” Tiber scratched his chin.

  “Why not have them come in, and we can all speak together?”

  * * *

  “What do you say?” It was a mere twenty minutes later, and Emilia had managed to put both the Tiber and the Pentri into this one room. All of them were huddled close, speaking with the urgency of children sharing a secret. Victory breathed hot against the back of her neck, so hot that she couldn’t even think about what Hyperia might do when she found Emilia had stolen her win out from under her. Then again, Hyperia wanted all the competitors to fight their hardest.

  In a twisted way, it was the thing Emilia admired about her.

  Emilia had re-explained her plan for the Tiber to the Pentri. As their lands touched and they frequently traded favors, what was good for one would be good for the other. Lady Pentri and Lord Tiber glanced across the room and nodded.

  “All right.” Tiber rubbed his chin. “You have us, girly. For the moment.”

  “That’s all I need.” Emilia got to her feet, trying not to explode. She’d done it. A few days ago, she’d barely known how to speak to another person, and now she’d negotiated a deal. “Come with me. We’ll need to switch your votes over.”

  Before the crests could be assigned to the victor, they had to be registered with the priests. The respective parties had to sign beneath Emilia’s name, and then—only then—would she win. She led the Tiber and Pentri down the hall, her heart jackrabbiting in her chest.

  After this victory, she’d have a real shot at the dragon throne. Emilia hadn’t allowed herself to hope for this. When she’d first got into the Trial, survival had seemed such a hazy prospect. But now…she could be empress.

  And as empress, she could make changes. Lasting changes. First, she could reexamine the policies on chaotics, and…and…

  One step at a time.

  She found Camilla in the priests’ parlor, the scorebook in her hands.

  “I’d like to record the Tiber and the Pentri for myself,” Emilia said, trying not to be offended when Camilla’s steel-gray eyebrows lifted in surprise.

  “Very well.” The priestess opened her leather book with a flourish, produced a pen, and told the nobles where to sign. They wrote their names, and Emilia had to fight to keep the exhilaration from exploding everything around her. She’d done it.

  She’d won.

  She’d never won anything before in her life.

  “So,” she said breathlessly.

  Camilla nodded. “So.”

  “So…how do we announce?” Emilia looked to the nobles and back to the priest.

  “Announce what?” Camilla seemed genuinely puzzled.

  “My victory.”

  “My dear girl, you need three Houses backing you to secure a victory. We explained the rules.”

  “Yes.” Emilia blinked. “I have the Tiber and the Pentri.”

  �
�Two Houses.” Camilla gave Emilia the book. “You need three.”

  But…but that would mean…

  House Aurun had been scratched out from underneath her name.

  “Who?” she whispered, throat dry. Scanning the page, she saw their name once more.

  Under Lucian’s.

  “Why are you doing this?” Lucian cried. Thank the blue above, his head had begun to clear of drink and he could have this conversation properly. The Aurun stood in his father’s assigned parlor. At least their son, Alexander, whose eyes were red and raw, looked as angry as Lucian. One of the Aurun had sense, though sadly not the ones who mattered.

  Lord Sabel stood at Lucian’s back. Dido had removed herself from the discussion and was draped across a chaise, looking bored at the whole thing.

  “What’s there to question? We believe you should be our next emperor,” Lady Aurun said coolly. She looked like a copy of Emilia that had been gradually erased, he thought, pale to the point of bloodless, her eyebrows plucked to nonexistence, her red hair faded with gray.

  “You should support your daughter!” Lucian boomed. The Aurun didn’t even blink.

  “I agree,” Alexander snapped.

  “Father. Convince them.” But Hector merely stood silent, an apology in his eyes. For Lucian or the Aurun, he did not know. Why? The family had always treated Lucian kindly, but this sudden pull of support from Emilia made no sense. Unless…

  Unless someone had made a deal.

  “Father. You didn’t,” Lucian growled.

  Hector did not flinch. “I must do what’s best for our family, Lucian.”

  “Honestly, it’s not all down to Hector,” Lord Aurun said. Lucian suddenly loathed the sound of the man’s voice. “We think very highly of you, Lucian, and we think you can win. Emilia could never take the throne. She lacks the…constitution.”

  “Because you never believed in her!” Lucian felt himself coming apart. He rounded on the Aurun, who gazed up at him with guarded expressions. As a child they’d been kind to him, but he’d always despised the way they’d treated Emilia. Rolling their eyes at her passionate interests, mocking her posture and how unconsciously loud she spoke, asking her over and over why she couldn’t be more like Dido. Emilia had seemed to let most of it roll off her, but he’d noticed during their childhood how she hunched in on herself. The words had eaten away at her, like constant rain upon a rock.