“See this, little chochol?” I ask as pleasantly as I can. “That tower over there is full to bursting with dragons. I bet you’re afraid of them. I bet your mama told you dragons are very, very bad.”
The boy nods slowly. His dark, birdlike eyes fill with blood, and he blinks, red tears rolling down the soft, tiny feathers on his cheeks. I sense Jaga’s discomfiture in my mind, and I put up a shield blocking my curse with a growl of frustration.
Most people I see every day have already bled their fealty, or their magic is strong enough to withstand it. Chochols are weak, though, and children are the weakest. With a huff of impatience, I wipe his blood off with a shadow, swiping it greedily to have later.
It’s mine to own, after all.
The boy’s mother stands behind him on shaking legs, wringing her hands. She’s scared out of her wits, yet doesn’t abandon the child. I look up and give her a close-lipped smile.
“Settle, woman. The child will come to no harm.”
She clicks her beak a few times but doesn’t say a word. Jaga’s dry amusement mixed with exasperation fills my mind. My smile widens, showing off teeth. She’s pleased. It’s working.
“Dragons are scary,” the boy says, trying to grasp the illusion of a dragon flying circles over my palm.
“They are. But do you know what’s even scarier? Me. I am going to cook them into a roast.”
“Usually, a roast happens over open fire. You’ve sealed up all exits, so the tower serves as a kind of pot with a lid, does it not?”
I can’t help it. I laugh, because Jaga’s droll explanation plays right into my mischief. She’s perfectly unsqueamish.
“You can do that?” the boy asks, his eyes huge with awe. “Dragons are so strong!”
I nod seriously. “Once I’m done here, you’ll never have to be afraid of dragons again. At least until Perun brings in new ones. Oh, well. I mightstewthem, too, if he does. Would you like that?”
“Stew? With parsnip and carrots?”
I change the illusion, and now, the dragon is tied to a pole stretched horizontally over a big fire. The dragon’s scales sizzle, and his tail lashes frantically in pain.
“Can youreallydo that? But dragons makefire. It can’t hurt them.” The boy’s voice grows suspicious, and he folds his arms on his feathery chest, challenging me.
“Tomek, stop bothering His Grace,” the chochol’s mother says shakily, finding her tongue at last.
“Did you hear that? Call me ‘Your Grace’ from now on.”
“Your Disgrace, more like it.”
“I make the kind of fire that burns even dragons,” I tell the child, getting up.
His mother pulls him away, huffing and cursing under her breath, because the boy wants to stay close and watch. When I look around, I can’t hold back a grin of pleasure. The crowd has grown, more people hastily rushing to the square, called in by those already here. I forgot how fun it is to make a show.
Since Jaga jokes at my expense, I will repay her in kind.“I’m sending you something, Your Poppiness. Do with them how you please.”
While I entertained myself with the child, my shadows raced through the dragon tower in search of myallies.I have them now, and I transport them with my magic right into my bedroom. They are tied up with ropes that prevent them from shifting, each sporting a pretty red bow on top of his hideous head.
My love can accuse me of many things, but not of being inconsiderate.
“What am I supposed to do with them?”
“Whatever the fuck you want. They are yours, since you’re the one who wanted them saved. But enough about them. Watch now. This will be good.”
The crowd jostles, people speaking in frantic whispers, staying well away from me as they squeeze against the buildings around the square. The prisoners file out through an uneven doorway I made, and I rush them, projecting my voice.
“Faster! You have a minute until this tower explodes. Faster, now.”
They run and scream, and some bieses pull away from the enraptured crowd and help them along, especially those prisoners who barely walk. Soon, all of them are out, and I seal the door back up just in case.
“Ready, beloved?”
