“It does, but I am not sure he wishes me to share it with you.”
“Fair enough.” He sat back in his seat, enthralled by the dragonling trying to rip a front leg from a piglet. The snarling taking place was quite fierce. While Jaculi gorged, I slid my saddlebag from my shoulder and dug inside, lifting a small bit of leather laid over the bottom. From there, I slid out a sheaf of vellum, dusty and water-spotted after the long trip, but still bearing Aelir’s personal seal. Coelum eyed the letter with confusion before cracking the seal. “Sit. Eat. Nothing is poisoned.”
He rose from the table to move to the small fireplace. There he stood, plum trousers slipping down lean hips, to read the letter from his brother. I took a seat, filled a plate with fat black olives, pickles, and soft brown bread. The silence was broken only by gentle snores and the sound of a dragon chewing pork.
That is the supposed prince?
Yes, he is.
You are sure?
Yes. He looks like King Aelir. The court mages will be able to ascertain his lineage with some rites that include rare regents.
Ah, yes, royal bloodlines glow brighter in ancient nodes.
I chewed, unsure of what a node was or how this small wyrm held so much knowledge for being recently hatched. When the goddess said that dragons remember what the mountains have forgotten, she spoke true. They came into this life possessed of wisdom that was vast and grew like the deep forests. Through deep memory that was instinctual perhaps. It was beyond my limited knowledge and best left to the arch druids back in Celear.
Coelum exhaled slowly, the missive in his now shaking hand. When he turned from the fire, his gaze met mine.
“This letter…” He held out the thick paper. “This is true?”
I had no knowledge of what had been said but assumed it was an explanation of the possibility of Coelum being nobility.
“The king believes it to be, yes. That is why I was tasked to find you.” I said around a half a dozen olives soaked in thick Sandrayan oil. My swallow was loud. The room was deathly quiet. Even Jaculi seemed to sense the import of the moment, for his chewing was subdued.
He nodded just once, handsome face set in stone then flung the letter to the table. It fluttered down to land beside a platter of plump figs, melon chunks, and a large blood orange. Obviously, the Cloud’s Shame had recently returned from the Black Sands.
“You stay here. Do not leave this room until directed to do so. I’ll send your partner up to join you,” Cadere stated with zero emotion, but his azure eyes were alive with feeling. He pointed a finger bearing a slim gold band at me. “I need to discuss this with my first mate.”
Off he went, plum trousers swirling about his ankles. I watched as the door opened and he spoke to Prescott in hushed tones before the door was closed once more. My sight met Jaculi’s. His snout and face were shiny from pork fat.
He seems upset.
Yes. Yes, he is upset.
Why are elves always so impassioned?
We are people that feel deeply, the queen once told me.
She is correct. I am not sure if that is a boon or a blight.
Neither am I.
A soft rapping at the lone circular window pulled my attention. Click sat on the sill. I rose and hurried around the bed to open the porthole. The raven flew in, landed on the table, and began feasting on plump grapes.
The door opened. Prescott strode in and walked to the bed where I stood, hand still on the window. Without a word, he hoisted one and then the other unconscious naked males to his shoulders. Off he went, silent as the night, turning sideways to fit through the doorway. The door closed. I looked at my companions, one glutting on grapes while the other guarded the pig like a kennel hound guards a bone. Just as I was about to scold Jaculi—for ravens are fond of meat as well—the door blew open. Asdren rushed in, eyes round, meaty hands fisted.
“Chirp, you all right?” he asked, glancing about for an enemy to pummel. He was protective. That touched me. “Some elf woman with a peg leg told me I was to join you.”
“I am fine. Our host has been gracious. For a pirate.”
He lowered his fists before walking over to the table to shoo the dragon from the pig. Jaculi snapped and sputtered out a tiny bit of ice that melted within seconds. I heard Asdren’s stomach roar from across the room.
“Not sure we can cast stones being what we are, Chirp,” he answered.
“True. You may eat. I have had several of the offerings as have Click and Jaculi.” I moved around the bed to join him. He sat, threw his beard over one shoulder, and broke a rib off the pig with a sharp crack. I sat with my legs folded into a knot as he dove into the fare. Jaculi took a seat to begin cleaning the grease from his scales like a well-fed cat. Click moved from grapes to cheese, pecking at the small yellow cubes.
“What’s going on? Is he the lost elf we seek?” he asked before biting off a charred bit of pork.
