No future spouse will find me attractive.
They passed the Draconian guards and entered their quarters.
“See you in a bit,” Senta said as she headed to her room.
Gerard headed to his own. He prepared and dressedproperly for the day. Earlier, he’d just thrown on some clothes to go for their morning flight.
As he pulled on his well-made but rather plain clothes, he steadily avoided gazing into the mirror. Ever since the attack, he’d struggled to look at himself. He buttoned up his trousers.
His heart picked up as, unbidden, an image of the sorcerer in the blue robes came into his mind. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could see that masked face, white with gold zigzags, staring up at him.
He’d thought himself a match for one single lightning sorcerer. How wrong he’d been. He could see the flashing fingers of the lightning sorcerer, weaving and then flicking forward.
Then pain. So much pain.
Gerard exhaled, forcing his fingers to release the buttons of his trousers. He opened his eyes and tugged on his tunic.
He’d not known about the elite lightning sorcerers, or lightning archmages as they were called, until that attack. No one in Draconia had. They’d lost dragons to lightning sorcerers before. But it had always been assumed it had been a cell, not an individual.
After all, everything they’d known about lightning sorcerers was that they were not strong enough to work on their own.
Sometimes when Gerard slept, he dreamed of that masked face. Some nights he even woke up drenched in sweat, body trembling, his one good eye searching his dark room for the figure who’d almost killed him.
Draconia now knew about lightning archmages. They hid their faces to hide their identities so they would not become targets of assassinations. They wore dark-bluerobes. They did not need the engraved bracers other sorcerers used to control their powers. It was said they trained in secret, secluded and far from the cities.
Which was good. He did not wish to be introduced to any lightning archmages.
The attack had raised questions regarding other dragons who’d been found dead whilst travelling alone. After his attack, dragons flew in small squadrons when they scoured the lands, in case they came across another of these archmages.
He pulled on his dark leather coat and buttoned it. Still, he kept his gaze averted from the mirror.
Gerard had never been vain, frivolous, or interested in the latest fashions. But he’d been confident in his looks. He’d taken care in his wardrobe and with his appearance, wanting to represent Draconia and bring honour to his family.
There was no point now. He knew what he looked like. So he stuck to well-made but simpler styles of clothing. But he would not complain about the disappearance of his good looks. After all, he’d survived the attack.
He doubted the sorcerer had.
Gerard had smashed into the cliff face above the Voltarian. He’d been blinded, but he’d felt the rock give and crumble. It would have fallen and crushed the sorcerer. He doubted the individual could have gotten away.
And the sorcerer would have continued to attack him if they’d not been harmed. Wouldn’t they?
He went to the dresser and picked up the small emerald-and-gold dragon pin and attached it to his coat.
Finally he opened a small wooden box. He reached in and pulled out a simple black titanium ring hanging from a chain. His mother’s ring. He stroked the cool metal band. Asa boy, Gerard had spun it on his mother’s long fingers. Now it was Gerard’s.
It had never fit him. Not as an adult, anyway. For most of his life, he’d worn it on a chain around his neck. Over the years, he’d thought he might give it to his spouse one day.
Gerard swallowed. He’d always known he’d make a political marriage. Love and affection would not enter the equation.
Still, he’d sometimes imagined his spouse wearing this ring and smiling at Gerard with something other than polite respect. Perhaps with affection. The two could become more than just two figures forced to marry for political purposes.
He hung the chain around his neck and tucked the ring beneath his clothes. He turned, and for a split second, he caught sight of his face in the mirror.
His lip twitched, tugging on the scarred skin.
Thankfully, it did not hurt anymore. But the wound still stood out so starkly. He’d tried to grow a beard to cover at least part of the scarring. But the hair would not grow in properly. So he’d given up.
He took a deep breath. He adjusted the eye patch, careful to avoid touching the uneven skin.
