They reached a blockade of guards that had never been necessary when the Dragons ruled. It appeared that the new King liked to keep the Inner and Outer City divided, however. They were let through with a few raised eyebrows at the state of the guards escorting him. Keeran smiled, a dark, cruel thing, and they quickly averted their eyes.
The tunnel, polished and beautiful as it was, became more so with each passing step. Columns erupted from the floor, each with a colossal dragon perched atop it, supporting the weight of the mountain on their backs whilst their outstretched wings connected tip to tip to form the vaulted ceilings. Keeran walked between them and felt his pride awaken, ugly and demanding, as he was reminded of all his ancestors had been. Walking obediently in the shackles of mortals wounded that pride, and the beast it belonged to snapped at his control, urging him to kill them all for their insolence.
The statues glared at him from their posts, but he ignored them, just as he ignored the Dragon within him. Aelia had to have a chance to get out; once she’d had time to leave the city, he could make his escape. Until then, until she was safe, he would play the prisoner.
The moment Aelia crossed his mind, the beast within him settled, and with far less resistance than he was used to. Keeran huffed a breath through his nose. The pair bond wasn’t even formed yet, and there it was, tamed into behaving itself by one fleeting thought of her in danger.
The tunnel opened into the enormous chamber that formed the main portion of the Inner City, tiered and sprawling and glorious. Every single building was one with the stone, bricks flowing into the rock face as if Mother Nature had created them herself, each one as magnificent as the last as they spiralled around the mountain’s largest cavern. By day, light would pour from channels that allowed access to the surface, some of themKeeran himself had flown through all those years ago, but the Dragons were not ones to accept the limitations of the sun’s benefaction.
The Inner City at night was exactly as Keeran remembered, with every inch illuminated by flames. It flickered in the open mouths of the dragon statues that balanced on every corner of every building, a testament to the mastery the Dragons had over fire. The statues drank the oil the Dragons had invented, their bellies filled with it every day by designated servants so that Llmera never had to sleep. Even the plants that climbed over almost every surface had come alive in the absence of the sun, glowing lights streaking through the dense foliage with ethereal bioluminescence.
The vibrancy of the city hit Keeran with a shock of nostalgia, and he would have given almost anything to stop and take it in, just for one moment. Music and laughter and the smell of food he hadn’t dared to remember filled the air around him, the best parts of home so nearly within his grasp.
The guards had other priorities though, and he was shoved roughly on. They tried to keep him out of the way of the artemian aristocracy, lest the sight of him offend their more delicate sensibilities. They might not have seen much of him, but he saw enough of them to realise the city wasn’t the only thing that hadn’t changed.
He had always hated the superiority the people of the Inner City wore, and he could see it still, the condescension draped over them like another layer of their self-indulgent clothing. Fortunately, he didn’t have to look at it for long.
Dragged, jostled and pushed, he was taken via the backstreets to an innocuous townhouse. Tall and towering, it bled into the cliff of the cavern, no doubt extending far back into the depths of the mountain. It was into this that Keeran was finally deposited, the old guards handing him over to the newwith a word of warning. Rather unnecessary, Keeran thought, as he watched them limp away, each of them bleeding from one orifice or another.
He had already had his fun though, and he went quietly with the wary-looking replacements, more interested in where they were taking him than the guards themselves. The marble floor gleamed in the light cast by the chandelier in the hall, and a wide staircase swept up and around to meet the galleried landing that loomed over them. This was not his to explore though, as he was taken through a comparatively ordinary-looking door tucked into the far corner of the entrance hall.
The humble doorway turned out to be entirely misleading. Despite being far from the most grandiose aspect of the hall, it turned out that the reception room behind it housed one of the most powerful men in the country.
Keeran bit back a snarl as he came face-to-face with Beserkir.
CHAPTER THIRTY
It was only through years of careful practice that he managed to control his expression, fixing his face into hardened neutrality.
Beserkir had no such inhibitions. On the far side of the room, he leant against one of the most ostentatious desks Keeran had ever seen, smiling like a spider that had just caught something in its web. As ridiculous as it was, the desk wasn’t out of place in the room. One quick sweep of his eye was enough for Keeran to realise what Beserkir lacked in taste, he made up for with money.
After ascertaining that the guards behind stood between him and the only exit in the room, Keeran finally slid his attention to the man who so clearly wanted to be the centre of it.
Beserkir had cleaned himself up from the incident in the warehouse, changing into a well-cut suit that highlighted the broad sweep of his shoulders, but the grazes on his face belied his less-than-savoury day job. Irrespective of the marks Aelia had left on him, Beserkir was as impressive in the study as he had been before the backdrop of his burning victims in Callodosis. He had the air of a man who was used to being the most imposing person in the room.
“My old friend,” Beserkir started, his voice as slippery ever. “I’m sorry to have dragged you here so unceremoniously, but patience has always been a virtue I’ve struggled with.”
Keeran remained silent, giving him nothing.
“I would offer you a drink, but I’m told you can’t be trusted to behave. Rather an animal, apparently.” Beserkir tilted his head to peer at Keeran down his nose.
“The country really has gone to the dogs if one of its Elders is too much of a coward to give a man in chains a drink,” Keeran said, raising one dark brow.
One of the guards pushed him hard enough that he fell to his knees. Pain lanced through them as the bone slammed into the hard marble.
“That won’t be necessary, but thank you,” Beserkir cautioned, shooting the guard a disparaging glance. He pushed himself off the table and took several slow, deliberate steps closer, stopping just out of Keeran’s reach. “Now, I think you’re confusing cowardice with practicality. It took me far too long to get free of all the dirt after my run-in with your little friend, and I have somewhere I need to be. So, for now, we must keep this civil.” He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. “Funny you should mention dogs though…”
Beserkir jerked his head and Keeran heard a door open behind him, followed by the gentle click of claws on marble as a Guard Dog padded across the room to stand beside his master.
“This fine young man tracked you all the way from the abandoned corpses of the soldiers you and your friend saw fit to murder.”
Keeran’s mind reeled. They’d been tracking them this whole time.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he replied, keeping his voice calm.
“Oh, sure you do.” Beserkir crouched closer. “By the lakes. My soldiers all murdered, the humans released and only two other scents mingled into the mix. Yours was one of them, of that I’m sure. My Dogs don’t make mistakes.”
“I hate to ruin their track record, but it would seem they’re not as infallible as you want to believe.” Keeran let a little of the cruelty in him shine in his eyes. “I insist you give credit where credit’s due. It was me who killed your little soldiers, each and every one of them, and trust me, I didn’t need any help.”
