“Do you even know how a Wing works?” he asks when I load another argument on my tongue and prepare to fire. “Members of a Wing are only beholden to their Heart,” he continues before I can say anything. “That’s what we call the dragon they vow to protect. You were right when you said that my Wing had divided loyalties. They will do what their Heart orders, but ultimately, if we’re both in danger, their vow of protection to me would overrule any order to protect you. There’s a lot of nuance to the relationship that’s hard to explain, but when you take a Wing, the only person they’re loyal to after their oath is you. Not even the king can supersede that.”
I throw up my hands in exasperation. “Why the fuck would a bunch of strangers want to make me their Heart? They don’t know me, and I don’t know them. That doesn’t engender trust on either side. It makes no sense.”
Out of nowhere, he leaps for me. I yelp with surprise, but I don’t react fast enough and instead of twisting out of range, I somehow make it easier for Aeson to pin me against the wall. He presses closer, his arms caging me in, and I impotently press the tip of my dull butter knife under his chin.
“That’s why there’s a Call to Arms. That’s just the beginning of how a Wing is formed. Each day for five days, the selection pool will narrow. On the last day, you’ll choose a select number of guards that you think will work best for you. After that, there’s a trial period where you’ll get to know them and they’ll get to know you. Once that probationary time is over, the final members of your Wing take their oaths, and everything is solidified in blood.”
I consider his words carefully, churning them around in my mind as I look for loopholes and traps, but he’s just so damn close it makes it hard to think straight. My pulse is loud and insistent in my ears, my chest is tight and heavy, and my lungs no longer seem interested in oxygen unless it’s laced with him.
“What’s to keep them from betraying me, from learning my secrets and vulnerabilities, and then quitting after the trial and selling me out to someone else?” I ask softly.
The smile he gives me feels like both a taunt and a promise. He surrounds me, pressing closer and completely overwhelming my senses. I snap into focus and remind myself that I can’t let Aeson Noctis beguile away my control. I need to steer this in a way that works for me.
Executing phase one of my plan, I let myself relax against him. Just enough to make him wonder if I’m softening toward him and subconsciously giving in. To play on the fight he also craves, I press my butter knife even harder against his skin.
To my surprise, I actually nick him. I didn’t know the buttery little bastard had it in him. I’d almost feel proud if I didn’t now have to watch a lone drop of blood slip down the muscles of Aeson’s throat.
Why does it smell so good?
Aeson reaches over and plucks the flatware from my hand. I don’t even put up a fight. We both know it’s done all the damage he’s going to allow. He drops his head a little, his weighted gaze roving over my face and pausing on the spot on my cheek where my dimple is currently hiding.
“Once your final trial starts, any drake that isn’t chosen to become a member of your Wing is put to death,” he explains in a tone of voice made for whispering dirty things instead of discussing the finer points of killing off Wing applicants. “From the moment they’re selected by you for that final trial, they know that they either earn a place by their Heart’s side or forfeit their life. And it’s not just one-sided. If you as a Heart prove unworthy, if your guards would rather die than swear an oath to you, that’s its own kind of death sentence. You would be left unprotected, and in our world, no one survives alone for long.”
I shake my head and at the same time run the back of my fingers lightly over his stomach, feigning absentmindedness, like I’m too lost in thought to realize what I’m doing. “I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment, Aeson. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just not in the right place in life, you know, for a death oath.”
A few muffled titters sound off from behind the commander, and I’m reminded that we have an audience.
In a deft move, I slip out between Aeson and the wall and put distance between us. A low growl rolls out of him as he turns and tracks me again.
Another drop of blood slips down his neck, painting a little line across one of the flames of his dragon mark. The unexpected wound only coaxes out a few drops, but in a world built on blood, it feels like a monumental waste. There are people out in Drameric that would kill for the miniscule amount carving a slow path down his throat, and yet he makes no move to staunch it.
He takes a step toward me, and something in his body language as he moves has me instinctively dropping into a defensive stance. He pauses and studies me for a moment. After a beat, he nods to himself like he’s come to some secretive conclusion.
“I’ll fight you for it,” he offers, and it takes a second for my brain to catch up with what he’s saying.
“Fight me for what?”
“For your Wing. You insist you don’t need protection, that you’re somehow the exception to the rule, so prove it. If you win, no Wing. If I win, you give at least ten drakes a final trial.”
I go still, his offer floating tenuously in the air between us. Ten drakes is a lot, but if I win… I study him, sizing him up, weighing the odds that I could actually come out on top. If I had more time to train, I might actually have a shot. That, or if I blindfolded him and tied his hands behind his back, I’d probably need to bind his feet while I’m at it, maybe a gag too…but I doubt I could get him on board for that.
“Four drakes,” I parry warily.
“Eight.”
“Six,” I rebut.
“Six,” he agrees…a little too quickly.
I want to argue, but technically I just got what I wanted. Besides, all I need to do is win and I can havezeroWing members.
“No affinities, you can’t call your scale armor, and I get to choose three weapons,” I haggle. It’s not blindfolded with bound hands and feet, but it’s better than nothing.
His answering smile is sly. “No affinities, I won’t call my scale armor, and I’ll do you one better than weapons, we’ll use a haptic simulator.Thatwill make us as evenly matched as we can get.”
I scowl at him, not sure if I’m irritated or impressed with the way he just baited me. I should probably say no—he looks a little too eager for me to say yes—and yet I can’t help but wonder how I would fare against him. I got a little taste just now, and even though I know it’s dangerous to be gluttonous about it, I want more. And not this cat-and-mouse shit that we’ve been doing here. I want to see what I can really do against a dragon.
It’s risky, especially if we’re using tech I’ve never even heard of, but that’s never been a problem for me before. I do some of my best work when I’m up against the wall.
