by Jasmine Walt
Lucyan gritted his teeth. “She’s not ‘stringing along’ any of us,” he said. “Ours is a mutually agreed upon relationship, and we have reason to believe the dragon god himself has blessed it.” Dareena had told Drystan about the prophecy she’d found before she and Alistair had left. Of course, soothsayers spouted gibberish all the time, but they also spoke true prophecies from time to time, and that one had been quite specific.
Shadley shrugged. “Be that as it may, all of this coupled with the recent military defeat is lending credence to the idea that Dareena may not be legitimate.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Lucyan slammed his glass on the table. “I won’t stand for this,” he said, shooting to his feet. “I’m going to visit the oracle immediately and demand he recant these vicious rumors.”
“Your Highness.” Shadley got to his feet and gently grabbed Lucyan by the elbow before he could storm off. “It’s the middle of the night. The oracle is hardly in any position to be receiving visitors.”
“Oh. Right.” Lucyan blinked, shaking his head in an attempt to clear it. He’d imbibed far too much tonight. “Well, what do we know about the oracle, Shadley?” he asked, resuming his seat. “I confess I’ve never been much interested in religion and have not spoken to him much. I’ve only ever seen him the times Mother and Father dragged us to the temple for some ceremony or other, but I remember him being a nice enough man. Why would he turn on us after all these years?”
“It’s odd,” Shadley said, leaning back in his seat. The firelight reflected in his dark eyes as his gaze grew contemplative. “Before your mother’s death, the oracle spent most of his time at the temple and rarely came to Dragon’s Keep unless he was called. But after she passed, he and your father became quite close. I daresay he was a trusted confidante.”
“That is odd,” Lucyan said, tapping his forefinger against his chin. “The oracle is supposed to be above politics. Why the sudden change in behavior?”
Shadley shrugged. “I asked him about it once, and he merely said that the dragon god urged him to take a more active role in the goings-on of the kingdom,” he said. “I couldn’t very well argue with him since he is the only person who ever talks to the dragon god.”
“And why is that?” Lucyan demanded. “If we dragons are supposed to be descended directly from the gods, why does he talk to some human instead of us? Why don’t we have a direct line?”
Shadley blinked in surprise. “But you do,” he said. “Every dragon has the ability to commune directly with our god.”
Lucyan stared. “Why do I not know about this?”
“I’m surprised your father never told you. Luckily, I read about it myself a few years ago while doing research in the library. We can go down there right now, if you like, and see if I can unearth that passage.”
“Please, lead the way,” Lucyan said, hope stirring in his chest for the first time. The library held some fond memories, as he and his brothers had spent so much time down there with Dareena. It seemed only fitting that he’d find an answer to their problems between the dusty pages of an old tome, as Dareena had done for them before she’d been taken away.
11
The next morning, Lucyan rose bright and early and called for his horse to be saddled. By the time he’d returned from the library, Drystan had been fast asleep in bed, and he saw no reason to wake his brother. Neither of them had gotten much sleep recently, so Lucyan merely left him a note informing him of his whereabouts before riding off to give the oracle a surprise visit.
Targon Temple was a two-and-a-half-hour ride from Dragon’s Keep, and Lucyan used the time to think. Shadley had indeed come through with the secret ritual for how to commune with the dragon god, and he wondered if the oracle used the same method, or if the dragon god spoke to him through different means. Had his father ever spoken to the god? If he had, Lucyan couldn’t imagine it had been recently. Why had the dragon god allowed their father to descend into madness? If they truly were his descendants, should he not have done something to intervene?
What if the oracle is right? an unbidden voice whispered in his head. What if Dareena really isn’t the Dragon’s Gift, and all their suffering is the dragon god’s way of punishing us for choosing wrong?
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he muttered to himself. Of course Dareena was the Dragon’s Gift. How else was it she could strengthen them every time they made love? He’d seen Drystan shift just before he’d lost consciousness during that fateful battle and had felt the hot flashes and intermittent weakness himself. Dareena had changed them, and was bringing them closer together with every kiss and caress.
Gods, how he missed her. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine the feel of her lips on his flesh, the way her luscious curves molded perfectly into his hands as he ran them down her bare body. His cock began to harden at the mere thought of her standing before him, those perfect breasts jutting proudly from her chest, her thighs parted just wide enough for him to catch that flash of pink petals beneath her thatch of dark curls.
Wrong time, wrong place, he scolded himself, shifting uncomfortably in his saddle. He forced himself to think about the oracle’s wrinkled face instead, and exactly what he would say to the old bastard when he saw him.
Eventually, the woods surrounding him grew quiet, a familiar, hushed reverence permeating the chilly air. Up ahead, the trees gave way to a wide clearing, and Lucyan could clearly see Targon Temple, the most sacred place in all of Dragonfell. Despite the feelings of anger and bitterness the oracle had inspired in him, a sense of peace and contentment swept over Lucyan as he drew closer.
The oracle himself might not have the purest intentions, but there was no doubt in Lucyan’s mind that this was a holy place.
Lucyan dismounted his horse a few paces away from the dragon fountain, then handed the reins off to an attendant before bending over to wash his hands and mouth before entering the building. The temple loomed a few yards away, a massive, two-story structure built from wooden beams painted vermillion, their sacred color. Golden runes shimmered along the edges of the roof, the pillars, and the entrance—protective symbols that would repel anyone who approached with ill will.
Lucyan drew in a deep breath and expelled what little anger lingered in his heart. He didn’t actually mean the temple ill will, but he wasn’t sure the runes distinguished the difference. Steadier now, he climbed the steps, then handed his shoes to another attendant.
“Do you know where I can find the oracle at this time of day?” Lucyan asked the attendant. He’d timed his visit to ensure he missed the morning prayers, having no intention to kneel on the floor for an hour and a half and chant rhythmically with the priests and acolytes. That time was much better spent getting what shut-eye he could.
The attendant smiled. “He is in his office upstairs.”
Lucyan thanked the woman, then gave her a coin as a donation and stepped over the threshold. Woven rugs cushioned his bare feet, sparing him from the worst of the frigid cold that had seeped into the floorboards overnight. Ahead, on the other side of the wide, open space, was a shrine with a statue of the Fiorlax, the dragon god, and various offerings gathered around him. Lucyan bypassed the shrine, and those praying in front of it, in favor of the staircase that hugged the left side of the building. He lightly traversed the rickety steps, then turned down a hall lined with several rooms.
Lucyan had met the oracle enough times to know him by scent, so he easily picked out his office. “Enter,” the oracle commanded when he knocked, and Lucyan raised his eyebrows. He sounded far too imperious for a man of the cloth, though perhaps he had a right to be, as the “only” man who could speak to the gods.
“My prince!” The oracle’s eyes widened as Lucyan pushed the door open, and he got to his feet. He’d been sitting behind his desk, which, while neat, was covered in stacks of paper. The office itself was spacious and nicely appointed, with a large glass window overlooking the gardens on one side and a fireplace and chairs on the other. Bookshel
ves lined the wall behind his desk, and over the mantle was a gorgeous depiction of the dragon god soaring over Terragaard, his scales shining gold as he spewed flame into the night.
“This is a most unexpected surprise,” he said, smiling broadly as he approached Lucyan. Lucyan noted the smile did not reach his eyes, and he detected the change in his scent—the man was nervous, and not at all pleased to see him. But he shook the oracle’s hand anyway and accepted his invitation to sit down. “Have you and your brother come seeking guidance?”
“Just me, I’m afraid,” Lucyan said as the oracle poured tea for them both. Lucyan surreptitiously sniffed at it to make sure the man hadn’t slipped anything untoward in his cup, but it simply smelled like berries and hibiscus, so he took a sip.
“Understandable,” the oracle said after taking a drink himself. “I’m sure that neither of you can afford to leave for very long now that the king has left the responsibility of the entire kingdom on your shoulders.”
“Indeed,” Lucyan said, with more than a hint of bitterness in his tone. “We have many problems to deal with, and I was hoping you might be able to assist me with one of them.”
“Of course,” the oracle said eagerly. “Anything I can do, you need only ask.”
“What I’d like you to do right now,” Lucyan drawled, leaning back in his seat, “is tell me why you’ve been spreading nasty rumors about our mate.”
“O-our mate?” the oracle repeated, his eyes widening in confusion. The fear in his scent grew sharper, and Lucyan bit back a wolfish smile.
“By ‘our’ I am referring to me and my brothers,” he said. “Surely you know about the prophecy, the one that states the three of us can break Shalia’s Curse if we join with the Dragon’s Gift all together?”
The oracle’s cheeks colored. “I told Lady Dareena to disregard that nonsense,” he said stiffly. “That prophecy was told by a soothsayer with a well-known propensity for madness.”
“Aren’t all soothsayers known for flirting with madness?” Lucyan asked pointedly. “I hear it’s a requirement for regular communal with the gods.”
The oracle’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
“And I don’t like that you’re trying to change the subject,” Lucyan said. “Do you take me for a fool? My spies have informed me that you are telling others that Dareena is not the true Dragon’s Gift, and that she cheated the ritual. Why are you taking such great pains to malign her, especially when she is not here to defend herself?” His voice deepened into a growl.
The oracle held up his hands. “I said nothing of the sort!” he protested. Lucyan bared his teeth, letting out a plume of smoke, and the oracle’s bald head grew shiny with sweat. “My prince, why would I do such a thing? I myself was right there when Dareena was blessed by the god—I would be calling my integrity as the oracle into question by suggesting that I could be hoodwinked. Of course she is the Dragon’s Gift.”
Lucyan frowned. The man had a point, and yet… “I see no reason why my spies would lie.”
The oracle shrugged. “Sometimes rumors are only that—rumors. There is no question that Dareena was chosen by the dragon god to bear his next descendants. However, this business about the three of you being her mates must come to an end,” he said firmly.
“Like hell it will,” Lucyan said. “We’ve already decided.”
“Well, un-decide it,” the oracle demanded. “Dareena was charged with the task of choosing one of you as a mate, and choose she must. In order to save the dragon dynasty, she must mate with the strongest of you, which means you and your brothers will need to fight to the death to win her hand.”
“And how the bloody hell do you know that?” Lucyan asked, horrified at the prospect. Fratricide? The very idea made him sick inside.
“The dragon god told me,” the oracle said, as if that were obvious. “He spoke into my ear just as I was drifting off to sleep last night.”
“Oh, so it’s that easy?” Lucyan’s voice was rife with sarcasm. “The dragon god sidles up to you in bed and whispers sweet prophecies in your ear?” He couldn’t believe the audacity of the man. Lucyan had half a mind to rip his throat out, if only to stop him from speaking more lies.
“Just what are you insinuating?” the oracle asked, outraged. “You may be a prince, but I won’t have you sitting here in my office, drinking my tea while you insult me!”
“Of course not,” Lucyan said silkily, rising from his chair. He set his cup of half-finished tea on the table and gave the oracle an exaggerated bow. “Thank you for your time and your counsel, Oracle. I will discuss this with my brother henceforth. In the meantime, I would appreciate your discretion on this matter, at least until the Dragon’s Gift has returned from Elvenhame.”
He turned and strode out the door, leaving the oracle sputtering behind him. Keeping an unhurried pace, he headed down the steps, then left another coin with the attendant at the door as he collected his shoes. There was no need to give the temple staff any reason to suspect that the meeting had gone badly. With any luck, the oracle would keep his mask on and pretend that he was a do-gooder instead of the lying sack of horse dung he really was.
But as soon as Lucyan mounted his horse, he gave rein to some of his anger, urging the beast into a gallop. Heart pounding, he leaned forward in the saddle and gave the horse free rein to run. The wind sang in his ears, ruffling his short, red hair as they raced along the path and cooling the rage that stung his cheeks and ears.
Finally, when the mountain trail grew steeper and more treacherous, Lucyan pulled his horse back to a trot. Even if the dragon god had commanded him to fight his brothers to the death, he would never do it. He’d lived in the womb with them—he couldn’t contemplate the idea of driving a sword through their hearts. And Dareena would never condone such barbaric behavior. She loved them equally—Lucyan was certain of that.
Mind made up, Lucyan stopped in Paxhall to send a quick message off to Drystan, then turned his horse around and made his way to the remote cave Shadley had told him about. Fuck the oracle, he thought with a grim smile. It was high time he spoke to the dragon god himself.
12
Four hours. It had only been four hours since Drystan had risen from his bed, and he already craved a stiff drink.
He sat at his desk, a ledger open in front of him, as he tried to make sense of their finances. The king had fired their treasurer years ago, insisting on taking over the accounting himself—an unusual practice for a king. Now that he’d made off with the treasure, Drystan knew why. The petty cash fund would cover their expenses until the taxes came in, but as Drystan pored through last year’s tax collections, he realized they would not have enough to cover the coming year’s bills if they also had to pay a hefty ransom.
Damn the elves. Those bastards had them by the balls, and they knew it. Drystan sincerely hoped those scouts had found his father’s lair—they had to get that treasure back or they were doomed.
The financial logistics weren’t the only thing making Drystan’s head pound. He’d woken up to find Lucyan and Tariana both gone. Bloody hell, can’t I sleep in for a few hours without the world going to shit? Lucyan had told him he was off to visit the oracle, and Tariana had decided to run off and rescue Ryolas after all despite his insistence that she stay at the Keep and make herself useful. He’d expected Lucyan back by now, but instead he’d received another note, this one saying that his brother wouldn’t be back until nightfall, and in the meantime, not to trust anything the oracle said.
Maybe I need to get out of this stuffy castle for a bit, he told himself. When was the last time he’d gotten some fresh air? Not since he’d battled with his father, he thought ruefully. He really ought to get some flying practice in, now that he knew how to shift. Under normal circumstances he would be doing it every day, but with the stress of the past week, he could barely think about shifting, let alone flying.
The idea was quite appealing just now, so he closed the ledger, t
hen made his way back to his rooms to change into a robe. His father had usually worn one when he went flying, as it was easy enough to shuck off—normal clothing was torn to smithereens during the change. But Drystan was only halfway to the royal suite when the steward waylaid him.
“My prince,” he said, sounding slightly out of breath as he bowed. Drystan had half a mind to instruct the servants to call him and his brothers “king,” but he’d held off as he wasn’t certain that was accurate. They were a triumvirate now, were they not? Or would Dareena rule alongside them as well? What did you call a group of four rulers, anyway? Drystan didn’t see why she shouldn’t have a say in the goings-on of the kingdom—she might not have been brought up as royalty or bred to rule, but she had a far better understanding of the common people’s needs than either he or his brothers did.
“What is it?” Drystan said irritably. Surely not every damn thing in the castle needed his attention, did it?
“The delegation from Elvenhame has arrived,” the steward said. “I’ve shown them to a suite of rooms and told them I would send word as to when you are available to meet with them.”
Fuck. They were here already? Part of Drystan was relieved, but the rest of him felt sick at the thought of negotiating with the elves when he had barely two coppers to rub together.
“Tell them I will dine with them tonight,” he said wearily. “And send Taldren and Catriona to my chambers, please.”
The steward bowed and hurried off to do his bidding. Drystan dragged his heels as he continued toward the royal suite, his dream of taking a few hours for himself evaporating. As he closed the door to the suite behind him, he was overcome with the urge to burrow beneath the bed covers and shut out the world.
Really, how had he ever thought he was ready to take on the responsibility of ruling the kingdom? A surge of white hot anger rushed through him, and in that moment, he hated his father more than ever for giving into madness. He should have spent more time grooming them instead of trying to keep them away from the throne, and he damn well shouldn’t have run off with every blasted coin to their name.
