“We get a clergy of dragons and have them take the ashen as acolytes to our fates. Maybe train bedservants there, too. Our current selection of bedservants is remarkably predictable.” Draenvir stared at his nails and grumbled. “And not to upset the fates, we call it a religion of the mind, scholars of the fates, yes?”
Ghreid rubbed at his chin. “Rath would need to clear it, but I approve wholeheartedly.”
“The fates did say Falustus should be given the temple.” Varis twisted his lips and glanced to Ghreid who nodded.
Draenvir stared at Varis with wide eyes. “Truly?”
“Ithink. It’s not something I’m exactly accustomed to, the fates.” Varis shrugged a single shoulder.
“Then this is what needs to be. I’ll inform Rath.” Draenvir pulled a notebook from his side and a contraption of a pen that he twisted and drew a messy note with. Varis leaned over to watch with fascination.
“What is that?” Varis pointed to the strange pen.
A metal tube had been situated with a strange tip that he screwed a cap onto in a hurry.
“It’s a take on the scribe’s dip pens that I’ve muddled with, and it wicks ink from inside its chassis into a packed wheat stem that I’ve sharpened to a point. It’s crude and leaks, but it’s proving to be handy.” Ghreid handed the device over to allow Varis to investigate.
Varis turned it over in his hands and studied it, removing the cap with a gentle twist. “There’s a type of reed that grows wild in Kaliman. We set them in scented oils and they throw the fragrance via evaporation. Something about tiny tubules. They’re very firm, too.”
Ghreid stared over, enamored with Varis’s observations.
“Would you mind if my father got a look?” Varis glanced up to Draenvir who nodded as Varis gave it one more turn. The tip had pooled a little too much ink in the cap, leaving the body of it dirty from touch. The tip was worn, smushed, and frayed, making it rather like painting with a crippled brush. The pores of a rattan reed would definitely carry the ink…
Draenvir craned his neck as Apa studied it and bobbed his head side to side. “Ink is particulate. It would clog. Mykel?”
“What if you load it full of a dye? That green dye from oak galls would work because it’s more of a dye.” Nen nodded his head.
“That does sound interesting.” Ghreid rubbed his chin. “A devil to get out of clothes, though.”
“Such are sacrifices, but you might find it leaks less if you do this.” Mykel handed it back across the table and frowned. “Your own invention?”
“Most of my gadgets are, yes.” Draenvir studied his pen and turned it over a few times before making notes, flipping back and forth between pen designs and plans for the temple. “Also, we’ll need to see the temple, too. Falustus won’t argue; he’s bored.”
Varis sighed, a twinge of relief sinking into his very core. Sadness still permeated the air, an underlying sensation of missing joy with a percolating excitement.
“Sirs?” A polite knock at the doorpost brought Varis’s attention away from his internal thoughts, his sight greeted by Rydel and an unknown dragon at his back, a vision of ruby. Red hair, eyes not the color and black he was accustomed to, but rather pits of emptiness, gleaming like polished obsidian.
“Graylan!” Ghreid rose to stand and welcomed the male as an equal, and Varis rose, too, followed in tow by his fathers.
Ghreid and Graylan exchanged a formal shake of hands, a half hug, and whispered condolences that strayed into a hopeful stare pinned to Varis. A sudden urge to recoil knotted in Varis’s belly. This alpha was not family, but somehow… Varis held his ground and gave a polite nod of his head.
The dragon approached, brows furrowed, eyes narrowed not with suspicion but curiosity. “Is this your lovely bearer, Varis, I presume?”
Varis nodded as Ghreid puffed with pride.
“It is lovely to meet you. Pardon me not addressing you directly, but, Ghreid, is he usually this standoffish?” Graylan held no offense in his tone, but Varis flinched at it all the same.
“Ordinarily the picture of a social butterfly.” Ghreid glanced between the two, his face soft and besotted, an expression that had no business on his hard, beautiful features.
“With Asha, it was always so hard to tell, he capered so much. But I see the reticence as a symptom.” Graylan shook his hands, fire flowing over them in a whipping and muted display, only visible for a blink before he rolled his sleeves up. “May I?”
Varis cleared his throat and glanced at his fathers before giving a quick nod, unsure of what to do. Graylan waited for nothing further and stepped forward, one hand on Varis’s shoulder and the other at his chest, sliding it lower, face twisting in concern. “Well, you already know more than I do. Two, just like Asha.”
“Am I always going to be compared to him?” Varis sighed. “This might get old.”
“No, you’re something else entirely. Water-based, flowing. So, Asha has true fire in him. You have water. You’ll need to swim often, which I assume won’t be a problem. You enjoy it, do you not?” Graylan cupped his hand and gently rubbed below Varis’s navel. His scent was unoffensive, despite not being family, and he felt soothing to be near and less threatening as moments passed.
“So, I carry… Their souls?” Varis cleared his throat.
