House of Dragons

by Jessica Cluess

  “All right. All right.” Lucian adopted that tone she despised: the concerned, patient tone used to silence tantrum-throwing children. “But you can’t pretend that chaos hasn’t been used to kill people! That’s irrational.”

  Irrational. Emilia had poured her life into books specifically to avoid that label. Irrational. Chaotic. Feeling. Madness.

  “I don’t think you should lecture me about killing,” she growled. Her chaos nestled against her, whispered in her ear. “Considering what you’ve done.”

  Lucian’s face darkened. “All I mean is that I understand you,” he snapped. “We’re both murderers.”

  “No. You killed because someone told you to. Huigh was an accident!” she spat, and turned on her heel.

  Emilia stormed through the palace and down the hallway to her chamber. Tears constricted her throat. Why, why, why had she believed Lucian would understand?

  But hadn’t he? He’d said she wasn’t evil, her affliction was. That was all she’d claimed to want, but…She didn’t desire mere tolerance; she craved acceptance. Now she knew that it would never, ever be hers. If Lucian could not give her that, no one else could. Emilia stifled a sob.

  The others slept soundly within their own rooms. She passed Hyperia’s chamber and Vespir’s…and paused outside of an open door. Ajax’s. Frowning, Emilia peered inside.

  “Emilia,” Lucian hissed, coming up behind her. “What are you doing?”

  She forgot, for one moment, what had transpired in the garden.

  “Ajax.” The bed was pristine and unslept in. “Where is he?”

  Ajax stood outside of Dog’s stall, a dagger in hand. Dog poked his nose through the tarpaulin curtain for nuzzles, which Ajax had no time for.

  “Be a good boy, all right?” Ajax knelt before the dragon and shoved his head away.

  “My lord Ajax,” Camilla said as the high priests entered. Petros wrinkled his nose at the aerie’s smell. Camilla held up a handkerchief to mask the odor. She’d addressed him in the most condescending tone possible, and Ajax’s balls retracted a little. “Might we ask what prompted you to request our presence?”

  “This.” Palms sweating, he held up the basilisk vial. He’d swiped it from Vespir. It hadn’t been hard. Neither priest spoke. “I know you murdered Emperor Erasmus. If the world found out, you’d suffer a death even worse than a chaotic’s, wouldn’t you?” He licked his lips. “But you don’t have to if you do as I say.”

  “What, pray tell, must we do?” Camilla murmured. She didn’t sound so bold now.

  “Two things.” He flipped his dagger in a shining arc, catching it by the handle. Just for show. “First, no matter who really wins, you crown me Emperor of Etrusia. And second, you pardon the other four from the Cut. Nobody dies.” He had to do this; the others would never understand, but he had to. There was no other way he could win, and that woman with her sad green eyes must find him on the dragon throne one day. The whole Tiber household must bow to him. Emperor Ajax, Ajax the Great. He must. He must.

  Besides, he would still pardon the others. That was awful grand of him, right?

  This was an Emperor’s Trial, after all.

  “Those are your only demands?” Petros sounded wary.

  “Do that, and I get rid of this vial. No one needs to know.”

  “What led you to this theory?” Camilla asked. Smart. No confirmation.

  “I have my sources. If I’m wrong, you can just walk out of here, can’t you? But you’re probably wondering what other proof I might have. Let’s say I do have it, and you won’t know what it is until I’m crowned and safe. This is your one chance to avoid execution. Take it.”

  He pressed forward, a dragon. The dragon.

  The priests exchanged unreadable glances.

  “You’re right,” Camilla whispered. Her black eyes found him. “We did kill Erasmus.”

  So close, so close to that golden line of glory.

  The vial tumbled from his hand, and so did his dagger, both clattering to the floor at his feet. His body was a block of stone; he could not blink. When he tried to speak, not even a whimper emerged.

  Oh. Oh, shit. He’d forgot about the damn stasis magic.

  “But if you think we’d ever set a bastard upon the imperial throne, you are as ignorant as you are ugly,” Camilla finished. She grinned, showing her teeth. “What shall we do with him?”

  “Hmm.” Petros stroked his chin. He touched the priestess on her shoulder with two fingers, gave a little shove. “It would not be the first time a competitor lost his nerve and took his own life.”

  “We had one of those last time, didn’t we?” She chuckled. “Pentri?”

  “No, Aurun. She poisoned herself. You recall finding the body?”

  “The puffed face?” Camilla rolled her eyes back and stuck her tongue out the side of her mouth. Petros gave a high, whinnying laugh. It was, Ajax thought, like watching two old friends reminiscing. The fond camaraderie made him sick.

  “Well, my dear. Does he go over the side, or do they find him in bed with his wrists slit?” Petros mused, pulling at his lip.

  “Cutting him and getting him back into bed requires coordination, and we’re not young anymore, Pet.” Camilla tsked. “Send him over the edge. I’ll write a note and leave it on his pillow, though I must make sure to misspell a few words. He doesn’t strike me as the bookish sort.”

  Ajax’s eyes stung from staying open. Move. He had to move! Help me! I’m an idiot!

  “Whatever was the Dragon thinking when he sent us this runt?” Petros clucked his tongue and walked toward Ajax. “I’ll lift him, if you get the feet.”

  Ajax wanted to scream, run, and throw himself into Vespir’s room to hide under her bed. She was the first one he thought of for protection, more so even than Lucian or Hyperia.

  I’m never going to get to tell her how sorry I am.

  As Petros drew nearer, a shape lunged out of the stall to Ajax’s left. Dog threw himself between the priest and the boy, and this time the dragon did not gawp.

  He roared.

  Petros and Camilla screamed as the dragon’s cry trembled the rafters. Dog expanded his wings, and his tail lashed to signal aggression, breaking a wooden stool against the wall. The dragon must’ve shaken their concentration, because Ajax could move again. He dashed the tears from his cheeks, swiped his dagger, and climbed aboard. Without a saddle, he felt the baking heat of Dog’s body, the rumble of his fire-acid stomach.

  “Fly, boy,” he whispered. Dog lifted off the ground. Two flaps, and they were out of the aerie, the priests’ astonished faces rapidly diminishing. Ajax looked to the stars above, tried to think. He had to run first and then find some avenue of getting back here and warning the others of his mistake. Mistake? No, his damned idiotic notion—

  “No!”

  Ajax gripped Dog’s neck as the dragon stiffened and plummeted ten feet to the ground. Mercifully, they landed on the runway and didn’t plunge to their deaths. Ajax dismounted and tugged at his dragon’s face. No. No.

  Dog was frozen; they’d locked him into stasis. He whimpered faintly, so apparently their hold on him was weaker than on Ajax. Just not weak enough. Ajax touched the dragon’s face.

  “Fight. You can get out of this,” he whispered as the priests exited the door. Ajax crouched, dagger in hand. “Come on!”

  “As if we’d engage in knife fights,” Camilla scoffed. She gave a low whistle.

  The night exploded with a uniform line of guards running in lockstep. In perfect formation, they surrounded him with their swords unsheathed. Numb, Ajax’s dagger fell to his side.

  “It’s always best to be prepared.” Camilla’s smile was acidic. “Your note gave us some pause.”

  Ajax played what few bad cards he had left. Fear ruptured his mind.

  “She poisoned Emperor Erasmus
! They both did!” he screeched, looking around at the soldiers. A circle of expressionless eyes watched him from beneath shadowed helms. “They used basilisk tears! Ask the cook! She thought it was medicine and put it into the emperor’s stew!”

  “Ah, Hestia.” Camilla clucked her tongue. “Poor woman. Such terrible eyesight. Makes so many easy mistakes.”

  Ajax realized that he had now doomed the cook as well. He was stomping on innocent lives left and right. Frantic, he struggled to rebound. He had to be persuasive, smart, smarter than the damn priests.

  “I, I mean, maybe she did. Maybe I made it up! To, uh…” He’d cratered everything around him, his words more destructive than a chaotic’s touch.

  “Arrest him,” Petros said. Guards seized Ajax and pulled him away from Dog. The creature was still able to move his protruding eyes; they swiveled to track Ajax’s every movement. More whimpers poured from the dragon’s throat.

  “I’m telling the truth!” Ajax wailed. “I…I have proof!”

  “Proof is nothing to power.” Petros gestured to one of the guards. “The dragon.”

  The guard obeyed without hesitation. Dog whined as the man stood before him, sword at the ready.

  Ajax could not breathe. Dog. The colorful, bug-eyed, gawping, idiot love of his stupid life whined as the man lifted his sword…

  “Stop! Stop!” Ajax didn’t care if he sobbed now. He would have crawled to the priests if they let him. “I made it all up! Just don’t…don’t do this! Not Dog! Please, not my dragon!”

  The last word came out as a ragged shriek. Ajax would hear it echoing for the rest of his life.

  “The eyes,” Petros said simply.

  Dog whimpered.

  Ajax screamed as the soldier sliced through the dragon’s protruding eyes with two clean strokes.

  Wild with pain, Dog must have become too much for the priests to hold. He stampeded forward, bellowing in agony as his wings flared and receded. His head whipped side to side, drops of blood spattering onto the ground like a cruel rain. Dog began to wipe his poor head along the flagstones, as if all he needed was to get the blood out of his eyes to see again. He did not spew fire, and in his gut Ajax knew it was on his account. Dog would never do anything to hurt his rider. Not ever.

  Ajax could not move. He was helpless.

  No emperor, no Ajax Sarkonus. Just a fifteen-year-old boy.

  “Dog.” He wept. The dragon gave a low, mournful cry as he hopped forward. The guards stayed out of his way, and the priests laughed.

  “Such a noble creature,” Camilla drawled. “So, my lord Ajax? What have you to say now?”

  Ajax could not see through his tears. He could not speak.

  Someone broke through the crowd of soldiers. A protective wall of a boy stood in front of Ajax.

  “What have you done?” Lucian shouted.

  When he’d found Ajax’s undisturbed bed, he’d known the boy would be working trouble somewhere, but Lucian could never have imagined this.

  And the dragon. This mutilation was heresy, like crude words carved into the walls of the sacred temple. He imagined Tyche like this, and the pain was fierce.

  Dog continued to wipe his face and wail for help, lost in a dark world.

  Camilla tilted her head back and filled the air with remorseless laughter.

  For the first time since burning Gaius Sabel’s sword, Lucian regretted his vow to live without violence.

  “What did you do?” he bellowed. When one of the soldiers reached to restrain him, Lucian leapt away. Soldiers blocked him on every side.

  “Give him a sword,” Camilla prompted. Petros made a discouraging noise, but one of the guards slid his own weapon across the ground to land at Lucian’s feet. Heart hammering, he tried to identify Rufus, but he did not see the captain’s helm. Perhaps the priests had been selective in whom they’d chosen for this assignment.

  “Well, Lord Lucian?” Camilla purred. “Are you willing to forsake your vows?”

  His palm practically itched for that sword’s hilt. Ajax’s and Dog’s mournful cries blended together in hideous harmony, and Lucian wanted nothing more than to make someone pay. These murderers, these cowards who had poisoned Erasmus. Lucian’s scarred hands fisted.

  Protect Ajax. Defend Dog. Avenge Erasmus.

  But…

  If Lucian lifted that sword, he’d throw himself back into the dirtiest game ever played. If he attacked, those cowards would win.

  Instead, he slumped to his knees.

  “Come on! Fight!” Ajax screamed. But Lucian placed his hands upon the ground, bowed his head.

  “Please. Take me instead. Whatever Ajax is guilty of, I’ve done worse a thousand times over.”

  “How noble.” Camilla sighed. “How like Erasmus.” Lucian shut his eyes; her speaking the emperor’s name was like a lash across his soul. “Unfortunately, you possess many of the same characteristic defects. Guards.” Lucian did not look up as she gave the order. “Let’s see if he really is as principled as he pretends. Run him through.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “Let’s check his instincts.”

  Stay. Do not move. It’s all over, anyway. Lucian waited for the three circling men to launch their attack. This death was far too good for him. It was the only injustice here.

  The men screamed.

  Lucian’s head jerked up as the soldiers exploded in clouds of red mist. Cursing, he wiped his eyes, spat the warm, coppery blood from his mouth. Three suits of armor, and three weapons, clanked to the ground. Steam rose from the remains.

  Everyone—the priests, Lucian, Ajax, the soldiers—screamed as the ground rocked beneath them. Deep, wicked cracks stretched across the courtyard. Lucian’s breath stuttered.

  Emilia. No.

  The ground stopped shaking, and he whipped around to see Emilia standing in front of the palace door, her hands held out before her in an almost protective gesture. Her eyes were dark in the pale orb of her face.

  She collapsed to her knees and began rubbing her arms. Her teeth chattered. He could hear it from where he knelt, and he could hear her wretched sobs as well. Somehow, Lucian could sense the power smoldering inside of her. She’d used too much, for his sake.

  “Stop!” she wept.

  Lucian had not anticipated that kind of power. He had not truly known her.

  As Emilia froze in mid-sob, trapped in stasis by the priests, Lucian rose.

  “Let her go!” he yelled.

  “I’ve had enough of your hand-wringing, Lord Lucian,” Petros snarled. “Either stop us or be silent.”

  Lucian ran to Emilia and knelt by her side. She was a living statue, only the steady rise and fall of her chest proof she was still alive.

  She had given everything for him. Didn’t she know? Didn’t she realize he was the most worthless creature alive? No, no, he hadn’t known her, and she hadn’t known him.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered as the guards bound his hands behind his back and dragged him into the palace. Ajax followed, with two guards escorting him.

  Dog continued wailing as they shut the palace doors, leaving the injured dragon alone in the dark.

  Emilia’s screams remained locked in her throat as Petros brought out the chaotic’s helmet. She tried calling on her chaos, prepared to smash everything around her to pulp if only she would not have to face the horror of that contraption. But the chaos was still within her, frozen by the priest’s stasis. He was powerful, too powerful.

  Petros approached with that helmet, the same type she’d seen on that girl years ago. The priest relaxed his magical hold on her enough to pry her lips apart and insert the mouthpiece. The lower half of the helmet was strapped around her neck and chin, the mouthpiece slipping down her tongue to pin it into place. After adjusting the straps, Petros fastened the top half of the helmet. His pinched face was the last th
ing she saw before the metallic darkness. There were no eyeholes in this helm. She could not see or speak.

  Her harsh breathing echoed. As she lay there, she felt Petros affix two metal containers to her hands, binding them at the wrists. She couldn’t move her fingers now. Lying on a bed, she heard the clank of chains as they bound her body to the cot.

  Emilia could not move, could not see, could barely think with all the darkness around her. She could not touch.

  If she didn’t know what was around her, she could not destroy.

  Footsteps filed out of her cell; yes, she was in prison. Emilia heard the distant echo of Petros’s voice.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked. She tried to move again. Impossible. “Good. I was concerned one of you might have been chaotic after that assault on the Volscia party. I will admit, I did not think it would be you. You were too much of a mouse.” Emilia gurgled in her throat, and saliva flooded her mouth, making the tongue depressor painful. “The rest of the competitors will be brought here. None of you can be trusted. The Dragon picked a faulty crop this time around.”

  He patted her arm. Her stomach seized as he sat beside her on the cot.

  “You wanted to take the throne as a chaotic, didn’t you? You wanted to spread your poison throughout the empire?” His voice became a whisper. “That is heresy beyond even what I have committed.”

  Murderer! Liar! It didn’t matter if Emilia was the same; she wanted to hurl those words at him. She screamed low in her throat.

  “Don’t think yourself the victim. Those soldiers you destroyed had families of their own. There’s nothing to burn now. There will be no box of ashes for their loved ones. You did that, you evil, wretched thing.”

  Evil. Could an evil being turn things to beautiful crystal?

  But…she had destroyed the Volscia ballroom. She had killed Huigh. She had murdered those three men with a mere twitch of her eye.

  “I believe you know what we do to chaotics in this empire, but I wanted to assure you that your punishment shall be tenfold worse. We’ll do the vivisection and the nails and the boiled lead.” His hand trailed down her thigh and squeezed her kneecap. Emilia tried, but of course she could not take herself out of his hateful grip. “But we’re going to break both your legs before we begin, right here, and flay you from the tips of your toes to the shattered joints of your knees. We’ll cut off your ears as well, and every one of your fingers before we finish with you. Why? Because it will give us pleasure and for no other reason. Only after all that agony—and after we have set fire to your hair and blistered your scalp—only then will we allow you to die.”