Chapter 12
Razik
Inhaling deeply, he moved into a different position. His sword arm rotated out while his right foot slid forward on the exhale. He stilled, holding the pose, focusing on breathing.
It was an ancient art form known asserena sabre, and it was one only a few knew of. Tybalt had taught it to him when he was younger, a few years after his parents had left him here.
His uncle had been a saint about it all, while Razik had been a little shit. He could admit that. Being abandoned led to an array of emotions, and the only one he cared to express during his adolescence was anger. After a particularly rough day, Tybalt had Traveled them to the southern part of the continent and told Razik to remove his socks and boots. He’d sunk into cool sand as the waves lapped at the shore, and then his uncle had handed him a sword and talked him through the most basic poses.
“Control your breathing,” Tybalt ordered, circling him as his arm shook with the weight of the sword. It was heavier than the one he used in training.
“I am,” Razik bit out, but with the words, he lost his balance. “The sand is too slippery,” he grumbled, kicking at it and sending grains of white flying. “Why can’t we spar?”
“You spent hours sparring today, and you still lost your temper after dinner. So now try something else. Something created by our bloodline. Something from home, Razik,” Tybalt replied.
Home.
By Sargon did he miss Nordrir. Or at least what he remembered of it. Mostly he missed the family he’d once had. Not just his parents. No, he couldn’t care less about them anymore. But he’d left cousins behind. Friends. Even if it’d only been the first four years of his life, he’d felt like he at least belonged there. And the idea of having a connection to that time of his life, even if through stupid sword movements, made his chest tighten.
“Fine,” he’d finally said, planting his feet once more. “Tell me again how to do it.”
He’d honed the practice to perfection, mastering every pose and movement over the years, and now it was still something he turned to when he was trying to work through…well, anything really. When sparring wasn’t cutting it and flying allowed his thoughts to wander too far, he found himself on the same beach he’d been on centuries ago.
With his eyes still closed, he changed poses again with precise and controlled movements, but he felt the slight shift in the air. Someone else was here, and the dragon in his soul recognized the dragon in the newcomer.
His uncle was silent, letting Razik complete his routine, and when he finally sent his sword away in a swirl of dragon fire, he found Tybalt sitting on the shore. His knees were bent, arms resting loosely atop them as he stared out at the sea. Saying nothing, Razik dropped down beside him, mirroring his position.
Neither spoke for a long time. They only listened to the waves rolling up the shore beneath a the waxing moon. Razik wasstill nursing his pride from the words they’d exchanged earlier. The idea of disappointing Tybalt made him feel things he didn’t like—guilt, shame, failure. Rarely did his uncle provoke such feelings, but he was also one of few who could. It was his words that had driven Razik to the southern shore tonight.
“I argued with your father. About leaving you here,” Tybalt said, breaking the tension swirling between them. “Told him to bring you back when you were of age to choose the Guardian Bond. He insisted it would be better if you and Cethin grew up together, but more than that, he insisted it would be safer. Our kind were being hunted, and this world was one of the safer ones we’d come across in our quest for sanctuary. I could have made other arguments, but I…”
Tybalt pushed out a harsh breath. “None of that matters now. What matters is that it’s our nature to protect whatever we view as ours. It gives the beasts in our souls purpose. Gives them an outlet to be what we are meant to be at our very core.”
“I know all of this,” Razik said flatly at the mention of the reason he’d been left here. The fucking Guardian Bond everyone wanted him to take with Cethin. A bond only a descendant of Sargon, the god of war and courage, could be part of. A bond that would require him to guard his Ward at any cost, including his life.
“I know you already know all this,” Tybalt replied. “I ensured you knew the pillars of our homeland and our bloodline. You were left in my care, and I refused to fail you, despite doing so in other ways.”
“You didn’t?—”
“I did,” Tybalt interrupted. “You don’t need to spare my feelings. I was away from you for centuries because of the Wards, not once, but twice. But again, that’s not the point.” He finally turned his head to meet Razik’s eyes. “We are unsettled, off balance if you will, without a purpose. Our dragons becomerestless, and it affects every facet of our lives. You need a purpose, Razik.”
“I have purpose,” he said defensively. “I am devoted to the Cadre.”
Tybalt shook his head. “It’s not the same. It needs to be something you view as solely yours. It is why our kind are so drawn to Guardian Bonds and why they work so well. And before you get upset, I am not here to discuss that potential yet again.”
Good thing he’d clarified that so quickly, because Razik’s muscles had already tensed, preparing to leave. All the calmness he’d found while practicingserena sabrewas gone, replaced by wariness about where this conversation was going. Unless…
Was he about to appoint him leader of the Cadre? Give him that purpose? Make that something that washis?
The thought had him straightening, anticipation thrumming through his veins. His dragon lifted his head too, because his uncle was right. His dragon had been restless. Not for days or weeks, but for years.
“There is a threat to this kingdom, and I need you to handle it,” Tybalt said, his tone shifting to that of the Commander of the Forces.
“A new threat or one of old?” Razik asked, more than a little intrigued.
“New,” Tybalt said. “One our king refuses to see.”
Razik huffed a humorless laugh. That didn’t surprise him in the least.
