Their words were slick and poisonous, and it had been one of a very few things that had made me glad to be inside a cage—being away from them. Protected by the very bars that had trapped me.
“The king keeps his own counsel,” I said, lifting my head and searching the hall till I found the source of the words.
It was one of the men who had escorted the strangers to dinner the night before. He had helped the woman in the mourning clothes into her seat, then slipped away into the hall, not eating dinner with the rest of us.
One of the dignitaries from across the sea.
I didn’t know what he was doing wandering the halls, let alone so near Roland’s rooms, but I was sure the palace guards knew where he was, and were keeping an eye on him.
That was their whole job, after all, even if he was a foreign dignitary and to be treated with respect.
“Certainly, he’s a clever young man,” the slimy fellow said, apparently agreeing with me, but... had that been what I’d said at all? “But he trusts you.”
That was true, or at least, I liked to think it was. Not that I advised Roland on matters of state, because what did I know about ruling a kingdom? I couldn’t do a thing like that. I was just a little dragon who’d been raised inside a cage.
“I’ve known him for a long time,” I hedged. Because it only made sense, didn’t it? One needed time to become trusted. One needed to prove themselves a trustworthy ally.
Admittedly, no one could recreate the circumstances Roland and I had met under, or the bond that hardship had forged between us. How could anyone else understand what it was like to be held in a cage for Jarl Vidar’s amusement, when no one else had been through it?
The man’s lips pursed for a moment, his eyes strangely flat and cold, even for the discomfort of the pre-dawn chill in the palace. Then he gave me a smile that once again reminded me of those slippery men who had worked for Vidar—not so much a smile as a baring of teeth, like an angry predator who wanted nothing more than to pounce. “Of course,” he agreed. “But perhaps it’s someone like you, who has known him for a long time, who needs to remind him of his responsibilities.”
I cocked my head at him, confused, and for some reason, he swallowed hard and took a step back. “I assure you, Roland knows his responsibilities very well. He’s been king since he was a small boy. He’s learned well what he owes his people.”
“A future,” the man said. “He owes them a future, does he not?”
That was... confusing, frankly. “Is there a reason to believe the future will not come?”
The man huffed, frustrated with my clear thick-headedness. No one had ever trained me as a courtier, though, so what did I know of subtlety? “He needs heirs,” the man said, stressing the word as though it were something I personally needed to consider. “How else will Llangard go on when he’s gone?”
The very notion stopped me cold, not for worry about Llangard, but Roland himself.
Roland, gone.
No, that wasn’t possible. How could anyone, anywhere, survive Roland’s death?
No, surely the world itself would break apart on the event of Roland’s death. Nothing could be without him. Roland was all things good and beautiful in the world, and without him, there would be no point in any of it.
When I didn’t respond, the man huffed a sigh. “He needs to marry and produce heirs. Without a clear line of succession, Llangard could fall to chaos.”
I continued frowning at him, and he looked ready to start again, when a young man—one of the palace guards—turned the corner at the end of the hall, Tris alongside him.
“Mister Aronin,” Tristram said, unusual tension filling his voice. “I’m sure you remember that this section of the palace is off limits to visitors.”
“The dragon is here,” the man protested, waving at me.
My stomach turned over at being referred to as “the dragon.” It was too close to “dragon,” the only name Vidar had allowed me as a child.
I didn’t—couldn’t—no. I turned and fled toward the rooms Hafgan and Bowen always took when we visited the palace, my feet rushing over the hard stone floors with no further care for how cold they were. I needed my brother.
Bowen was the one who was awake when I rushed into the sitting room in the middle of the suite, sitting at a delicate table that looked like it might break at just his impressive presence. He shoved himself up, and mere seconds after I’d pushed into the room and nearly slammed the door shut behind me, his strong arms were enveloping me.
“There now, Aderyn, what’s wrong? Someone I need to crisp-fry?”
I gave a wet giggle and shook my head. “Aderyn,” I told him. “Always Aderyn. Never Dragon.”
“That’s right,” he agreed. Then he paused, and his eyes narrowed. “Did someone call you Dragon?”
“Thedragon,” I whispered. “I don’t—I don’t like it.”
