As they flew fast over the citadel, Layla saw the extent of the Dragon-battle upon the Crystal Plateau. It was tremendous, stretching all through the damaged city and spilling out over the plateau to the north, tens of thousands of Crystal Dragon skeletons glimmering beneath the high desert sun and the blinding snow of the shattered barricade. The sight made her heart clench even as she was awestruck. Beside her, Dusk’s jaw tightened, though he said nothing as they took it all in from the air. Looking around, Layla’s gaze fixed upon the emissary, who had been staring down over the decimation also. Glancing up, she found Layla’s gaze, then Dusk’s.
“It’s amazing a child could survive such carnage. Our King is impressed that one so young could accomplish such a feat, and wonders how it was done.”
“I don’t recall the battle,” Dusk spoke with a growl, though Layla could tell he was trying to keep himself in check with the gunmen all around. “Nor do I recall what happened afterwards, not for days.”
“Our King can retrieve blocked memories, if you like,” the woman responded coolly.
“And who are you to offer such a boon from him?” Dusk countered, staring her down.
“My name is Davira. Davira Breneman.” She answered, not responding to Dusk’s temper. “With my eyes, my King sees. With my lips, he does speak. And with my hands, he does deliver justice to the unfaithful.”
Davira’s words were frighteningly similar to those the High Priest of the White Chalice had used when he had illuminated his ability to channel Layla’s nemesis Hunter, and they made Layla’s skin crawl. Feeling a fierce heat flush from Layla, Davira gazed over with her labradorite eyes, smoky yet fierce with crystalline color.
“Have I been unfaithful to my King?” Dusk growled, simmering with restrained wrath.
“Not precisely.” Davira responded, a clever darkness taking her gaze now. “Should you have resisted our King’s summons today, I would have had your friends shot on the grounds that you were being unfaithful to our King’s requests. But even though you have not directly resisted an order from King Markus, he is vastly displeased you have decided to re-start your clan without consulting him. He does not know if you are strong enough for such responsibility. Hence, why he wishes to test your skills with the Trials. Succeed, and you will be granted a boon of your heart’s desire. Fail—”
“And die.” Dusk spoke with a dark rumble, even though his words sounded tinny through the in-flight headsets.
“If you must.” Davira held his gaze without flinching, and it was clear she had authority to use any force necessary in this situation. Dusk saw it and settled back, sliding a hand out to Layla. She wasn’t sure she should take it with Davira and the gunmen looking on, but as Dusk curled his fingers around hers, Layla didn’t pull away. Davira didn’t react like it was a threat except to glance down at their twined hands.
It was clear no-one was going to be friends here. As Dusk said nothing more, Davira lapsed into silence, though she kept her eyes on him. Gazing out over the desert, Layla saw they were far northeast of the Crystal Plateau now. They had a good view of the Nile, and she watched the blue water glimmer as it snaked around bend after bend. Wind whipped inside the helicopter, but no one moved except the gunmen swaying with a shift in the aircraft as they made a turn. Heading towards the river’s east bank, Layla saw a private airfield that didn’t exist in the human world. As they settled to a landing upon the tarmac, everyone was suddenly unbuckling seatbelts and being ushered out beneath the slowing rotors as the pilot cut the engine.
Stepping out onto the tarmac, Layla and Dusk were hustled quickly to an elegant private jet, thrice the size of Adrian’s. Roomy and ostentatious, the entire jet was decadently appointed in royal blue velvet, gilded everything, and crystal. Crystal chandeliers hung from the jet’s brocaded ceiling; crystal waterfalls of gems dripped from the tables. Crystals embroidered with gold thread decorated every ostentatious throw-pillow and seat. The plane didn’t so much have seats as old-world European lounging-chaises which had been bolted into the floors and equipped with modern seatbelts. The jet sported a full bar, a separate lounge for dining, and suites of rooms in the back for sleeping – some of which Layla saw were as decadently appointed as the main area.
As Layla and Dusk were hustled up inside the jet, the gunmen remained behind on the tarmac. It seemed they weren’t coming with, and as the doors were closed by a strong-looking co-pilot with austere Russian features, Layla wondered at the decrease in security. But as she stepped into the plane, she suddenly felt like all the fight had gone out of her. Like every crystal on every chair and chandelier had been impregnated with King Markus’ energy, all of it suddenly spilled a soothing ease inside of her – telling her to simply relax and enjoy the ride.
It was alarming even as it calmed her, and Layla felt like it was almost like a Siren’s mesmeric abilities, except this effect was purely physical. Even though her drakaina snarled in her veins, Layla felt like she’d not be able to manifest a single flicker of fire inside this flying prison.
And as she tried to create a flame in her palm, she felt it die before it had even begun.
“Magic is useless inside the jet.” Davira spoke as she took a seat in one enormous brocaded chair and buckled in for takeoff. “My King has imbued every crystal here with his resonant will, that no magical harm occur to those transported within. Calm yourselves and have a seat. The flight to Prague is a few hours.”
Settling onto a chaise with retrofitted seatbelts, Layla clicked in for takeoff and Dusk settled beside her, doing the same. It put them a wary distance from Davira, with a low coffee table between them. And though the emissary’s lips quirked to watch Dusk and Layla settle in together, practically in each other’s laps they were so close, Layla thought she saw something rueful take the woman’s gaze. As if it saddened her to see a couple be so close, she watched Layla and Dusk a long moment, then flicked her fingers to a server dressed in an immaculate tux and white gloves waiting nearby.
“Yes, ma’am?” He moved forward smartly, his eyes a vivid emerald – another Crystal Dragon of King Markus’ retinue.
“Drinks for our guests, and a snack before our in-flight lunch.” Davira spoke levelly. “They look like they’ve been wandering the desert like Spartacus for weeks.”
Layla tried to not be miffed at the slur as the server turned to Dusk, and Dusk gave him a calm order of an Old Fashioned for Layla and a bourbon on the rocks for himself. The man mixed their drinks at the gilded bar with the brisk professionalism of a well-trained bartender, then whisked away to fetch a plate of small bites; including puff pastries with smoked salmon and chèvre, mini quince pies formed elegantly into swans, and bacon-wrapped dates served in a filigreed pancake.
Layla was starving, but didn’t have anything to eat until Davira pinned her with a look, then gave a huff.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, none of it is poisoned. Here.” Leaning forward, Davira took up one of everything on a gilded china plate, then took a bite of each item. Lifting her perfectly-arched eyebrows at Layla as she chewed, she swallowed and said, “Would you like me to sip your drink, too?”
“Not necessary.” Layla growled, trying not to bitch-slap the woman, but her ravenous stomach called. Taking more than a few pieces of everything, she dug into the salmon puff pastries first, which were divine. Sipping her Old Fashioned, Layla eyeballed Davira as the emissary received a flute of champagne from the server, then jutted her chin at him to go away.
He did, disappearing beyond a blue velvet curtain at the front of the jet.
Turning to Dusk, Davira sipped her champagne, then swirled it thoughtfully as the jet’s engines revved and they began taxiing toward the runway. “So what would you like to know about your Trials of Proving, child of Arlohaim?”
“Know?” Dusk snorted sourly. “I thought the Trials were just a sham. I thought I simply show up at the palace and my King puts me to death.”
“Not at all.” Sipping her champagne, Davira regarded Dusk frankly. “Your King does wish to know how powerful you are. If you are unable to navigate your Trials and prove yourself worthy to your King, you lose his blessing. But if you succeed, you stand to earn much fortune from him. Contrary to popular belief, King Markus does not execute everyone he summons to his palace for their Trials. I was not executed when I was summoned from my home in Switzerland for my Trials. And your mother Sky was not, either, when she was summoned from Egypt.”
Dusk’s lips fell open so fast his chin nearly hit his chest. As shock lanced through Layla, Dusk stared Davira down, hard. “Excuse me?”
“Your mother.” Davira sipped her champagne again, her gaze chastising. “You would have known she was one of King Markus’ most treasured members of the court if you had ever come out of hiding long enough to visit. She sends her regards, by the way, and is eager to see you.”
