Chapter Ten
After a long day of travel, the carriages finally stopped. The Dragon King angled his head to peer out the window and then nodded at someone outside. He opened the door, got out, looked around, and then offered me a hand.
I climbed out of the carriage, weary and wary. We had a win according to him, but even after that amazing kiss, I still didn't trust his declarations. They seemed silly now. The Dragon King kneeling to me? Giving me control? Calling me master? No, that was ridiculous.
Then I saw the site.
Our carriages stood within a forest of oaks, pines, eucalyptus, and maples. The drivers were already seeing to the horses. Pine and eucalyptus dominated the air, encouraging me to inhale deeply. Before us was a clearing with a central fire pit, blackened and full of old ashes. Around the edge of the clearing, spaced three feet apart from each other, rectangular stones formed a ring. As wide across as two men, the stones also towered above us, nearly as tall as the trees. Beyond them, a cliff dropped away, giving a spectacular view of the kingdom.
The Dragon knights took rolls of canvas from the roofs of the carriages and unrolled them to reveal ropes, poles, andstakes within. As they saw to the tents, the King strode past the ring of stones and into the clearing. I followed slowly, angling my head to look up at a stone as I passed. Ancient carvings, weathered but still deep, stared back at me. It wasn't a language. Or if it was, it was an ancient language based on images. There were carvings of grain, horses, swords, dragons, and so much more. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the King's hand lift. He touched one of the carvings reverently. I looked again at the symbols. They weren't just sacred—they were sacred to him. I didn't dare touch them, but I wanted to.
Folding my wings respectfully, I went to stand near the fire pit and wait. The King murmured as he touched more stones. I didn't know what to do, so I remained quiet and out of the way. I lowered my stare and noticed that even the small stones that formed a border around the fire pit were carved with more symbols.
Sir Lohawk came up beside me so quietly that I flinched, but he was only bringing firewood to the pit. He set up a pile in a strange, careful way, but didn't light it. Before he stood up, he touched two of the small stones. Then he went back to helping erect the tents. As I frowned at this odd behavior, the King knelt before the fire pit right beside me. Hands on the two carved stones before him, he bent his head, whispered something, and then lifted his gaze to the wood. It caught fire.
Over by the carriages, the drivers, all human, didn't show the same reverence. They barely even glanced at the stones—large or small. Clearly, this place was sacred to the Dragons alone. I may not be a Dragon, but I couldn't ignore the shivering feeling of something ancient and holy. Even the trees seemed special, growing lush around the edges of the stones without a single branch touching the ring. The very breeze hesitated todisturb this place, despite the cliff that should have drawn the air upward. Looking out toward the cliff, I caught a glimmer of moonlight on water. It had to be Muvanah Lake, which meant this clearing overlooked the road to Ahanu. So it wasn't just a sacred space; it was also a safe place that offered a great vantage point.
And if this was meant to be a secure camp, maybe all that stone touching and murmuring was about defense. I bent to ask the King, “Are you warding the camp?”
He looked up at me, his eyebrows lifted. “Warding?” He glanced at the stones. “No, Eliel. This is how we remember.”
“Remember what?”
“So much.” He stood and nodded his thanks to the human who brought over two chairs, one of which was a low-backed style. Then he motioned to the low-backed chair. “Sit down, and I'll tell you about my people.”
A shiver ran through me, but it wasn't fear or excitement. It was the sort of feeling you get when the Gods are near. I could feel the importance of what the King was about to tell me. I sat down, and he took the chair beside me.
“Carved stones are one of the Four Pillars of Tabaa's Ancestral Dragon Magic.” He settled back in his seat as around us, tents went up, and food was prepped for cooking.
The horses whinnied as they were given fresh grain. I glanced over at them. They felt it too—the peace of the place. My assumption had been wrong. Yet another testament of how Bara had twisted me. I had seen defense, a place of potential violence, when in truth, it was a sacred place of remembrance.
“With immortality comes forgetfulness.” Firelight played across the King's face, casting dramatic shadows. He motioned to the large standing stones. “We carve our memories in places like this one. That carving is a warning. That one, forgiveness. That one there is when the kingdom went through a famine. That mark is of betrayal. That one there.” He pointed at the stone to my left. “Do you see the swirl around the crown?”
“Yes.” I looked from the mark to him.
“I carved it when I became King. The stones do not forget.”
“You mark betrayal and famine as well as your crowning?”
“We do not hide from our sins or the hard times that besiege us. We record them so that we may learn from them.”
The knights joined us, spreading blankets on the ground around the fire. Meanwhile, two human men brought a huge iron pot over and set it on the fire. They stepped back, out of the circle of stones, and sat down on their own blankets. I glanced from them to the King.
He smiled at me. “I wanted to share this with you. Only a special few may sit here, among the stones of my ancestors.”
“You . . .” I glanced at the Dragon knights, but they stared into the fire, lost in their thoughts. “You brought me to a place for Dragons only?”
“I hoped it might give you strength.” He motioned at a couple of the knights.
Sir Neriver and Sir Vanoak got up and fetched wide, short drums from the carriages. They returned to their blankets,settled, and began striking the taut leather in unison. A low sound vibrated through the clearing, and the other knights focused on the two. Even the King watched as the drummers played. A rhythm formed. Ancient music. The night air shifted as if to carry the drumming to the Gods.
The King motioned at the drums. “Another pillar of our magic is the drum. Drums are a communal magic. They carry intent across vast distances.”
“What intent?”
“Planting, celebration, war.” He shrugged. “But one man cannot activate the magic. We must come together to summon the blessings of the Gods and awake the power in the land.”
“I feel it,” I whispered, my hand going to my belly. “It shivers in me.”
