“We arrived on dragons.” Again, I direct my words toward Father as if the klerick isn’t there. “We landed in the mountains and housed our dragons there.”
The klerick takes a step forward, shaking with rage. “Thatharlotrode adragon?” He turns toward my father. “As I have warned you, we must exert more control over that dragon camp. Not one but two females have now mounted dragons. This proves we must slay every dragon, except the minimum number required to maintain the veil.” My bones turn to ice. Every dragon is in danger.
“Sarah is not a dragon rider,” I tell my father. “She’s Xander’s wife, and he brought her with him.” I manage to clarify the situation, without actually lying—beyond using the wrong names.
My father nods, as if this is an acceptable answer, and I assume he thinks that Surath rode on the same dragon as her husband. Father knows very little about dragons or riding—few people do—but the klerick may know more.
“Heretics, all of you.” The klerick’s rage is thick in the air. “Mounting a dragon is blasphemy.”
My insides tighten, but I vow to ignore the klerick and his nonsense. My father is King. The King holds the power, not his Head Klerick.
“When did Grandfather pass to the Great Beyond?” I ask Father.
He shifts on the throne. “It’s now been close to four moon cycles.” He shakes his head but shows no true emotion. Not that I expected much.
I step forward. “Father. I would much prefer to speak to you alone.” My gaze flicks toward the klerick to spell out my meaning. “It’s been far too many moons, since we last saw each other.” And clearly much about my family’s circumstances has changed. “Can’t a father and son share a few words without the presence of aklerick?”
Father’s jaw shifts. He seems angry, but I’m not sure where that anger is directed. His fingers drum on the arm of his throne. I can’t read him right now but decide to remain silent as Father considers my words. Further attempts at persuasion might make matters worse.
Father turns toward the Head Klerick. “Leave us.”
“But—”
Father lifts his hand, silencing the klerick.
“The King has a busy schedule,” the Head Klerick says. “Do not keep him long.”
Father’s jaw twitches again, but he doesn’t chastise the klerick. Even I’d be annoyed if someone spoke for me like the klerick just did, and my father— Even before he was King, if anyone spoke out of turn, they’d pay for it with a harsh beating, or worse. I learned, at a very young age, to clip my quick tongue in my father’s presence.
But the klerick slips out of the room, entering the antechamber that leads to the chapel. Finally, after days of waiting, Fatherand I are alone—alone but for the guards and footmen discreetly standing around the room’s perimeter. When I lived in this castle, I barely took notice of the servants, but now, even though we also have servants at camp, it seems strange to have so many lurking around, and even more strange to ignore them as if they aren’t people.
“Come.” Father beckons, and I stride forward until I reach the base of the three stairs rising toward the platform that houses his throne.
Once there, I clasp my hands behind my back, trying to strike the right balance—not standing at attention, but not slouching either.
“What took the King’s—Grandfather’s—life?” I ask.
My father’s head tips to the side, and his index finger traces the carving of a bear on the arm of his throne. “He was old.”
I nod. But the men in our family are generally very long-lived, and my grandfather was in good health when I last saw him. Very good health.
“May I offer my congratulations on your ascension?” I bow slightly, showing respect.
“You may.” He smiles, just slightly. “It is good to be King. I often thought my father would live forever.” His smile grows wider.
I nod in deference. “And your title. Forgive me, but I don’t want to address you incorrectly. You are King ofKhotor?”
His hands grip both arms of the throne, his fingers pressing into the teeth of the bears’ opened jaws. Then he raises his chin. “The Kingdom of Khotor is no more.”
“What do you mean?”
“Khotor remains under myrule, but it’s no more than a region now. At long last, the Seven Kingdoms have united.” His posture stiffens. “And I am King of the Light.”
My eyes widen, and I nod, trying to piece together everything that must have occurred for this to be true. What has happened to Rosomon’s family, I wonder.
“Congratulations, Your Majesty.” I bow again. “I know that uniting the kingdoms was always your ambition.” I carefully choose my words. Over the years, I heard bits and pieces of my father’s expansionist aspirations, primarily from eavesdropping on conversations between my older brothers—who all questioned his plans.
“You accomplished so much in only four moons.” I shake my head, hoping my show of admiration and amazement will cover up my distaste for how this might have happened.
