He drained his tea and set the cup down, never one to idly sit and chat.
“Thank you, Tyrin. That will be all for now.”
He stood. “I shall gather supplies and prepare for our trip.”
As he left, I turned to Catori and asked, “Can I count on you to watch over my people in my absence?”
Her almond-shaped eyes narrowed as she slowly chewed and swallowed her bite before answering, “No territory touched by my roots has ever been unprotected. I will destroy anyone who attempts to harm this land or your people, as I have always done.”
“Your power and protection have not now, nor have ever been, in question,” I hastened to assure her. “I only ask because it is my duty to assure their safety, and I would not dream of taking your friendship and support for granted.”
The outrage drained from her eyes, and a smile tugged at her lips. “You are much like your mother, hatchling. She would be truly proud of the dragon you have become.”
Catori’s praise caught me unaware, conjuring painful memories and a bone-deep loneliness I was ill-prepared to face. My hoard contained many memories of Lady Alina Scylla, but very few were my own. My time with my mother had been limited.
Swallowing the lump in my throat that had nothing to do with my meal, I had no response. Thankfully, I did not need one.
Catori cocked her head to the side, listening to something I could not hear. “Your grandsire once found the journal of an alpha and stored it in his hoard. Perhaps that will prove useful.”
I lowered my fork, schooling my expression to keep from showing my frustration. “The manor has informed you of this?”
“Yes.” She sipped from her teacup and nodded. “I asked.”
The insinuation that I had not chaffed. I had asked my home many questions since the attack, and it had yet to answer for its treasonous behavior. “Well, Manor, would you care to explain why you allowed a thief to enter and steal from my hoard?”
Unsurprisingly, I received no reply.
“Is there any other information you have kept from me that is pertinent to capturing the thief and returning my property?” I asked.
Still no answer.
I had never felt fully connected to my home the way Mother had. She was earth and stone; my sire was sky and wind, a creature who bore no scales and claimed no home. Perhaps his blood was the source of the disconnect that had plagued me since childhood.
Whatever the reason, it did not matter. I had a duty to fulfill. Finished with the stew, I grabbed a hunk of bread to mop up the last of the broth and focused on the plans I needed to put into place.
When I emerged from the manor, the midday sky looked no different without the sheen of my sire’s ward, yet nothing about it felt the same.
We were exposed.
I hurried my steps with renewed purpose.
The garden sprawled before me, wild yet deliberate in ways only Mother understood. Despite the chill of early spring, roses climbed trellises without strangling the jasmine vines. Lavender bloomed in manicured bunches near a majestic lilac tree, its branches heavy with blooms. Purple wisteria and honeysuckle draped over stone archways, petals littering cobblestone paths in violet drifts. The air hung thick with their perfume.
I could nearly see my mother as she walked these paths barefoot, her laughter echoing off the garden walls as she taught me which blooms were safe to touch. Twenty-five years gone, and the garden still bloomed without her.
Magic wove through every branch and root, her ultimate gift ensuring the space would never decay. The manor maintained it with stubborn devotion, as if she might return at any moment to tend the herbs she’d planted for healing potions.
I found Clymene precisely where I knew she would be, standing between the fountain where Mother had shown me how to cup water in my palms and the bench where we used to share pastries she had filched from the kitchen. As I closed the distance to the centaur, each step twisted something in my chest that had nothing to do with my wounds.
Like her sisters, the centaur’s coat was a rich cinnamon color, but that was where their similarities ended. Clymene was the smallest of the triplets by far, her frame petite and almost frail. Still, her mental strength and physical resilience belied her size. She turned at my approach, and the colorful beads adorning her leather vest made a soft tinkling sound. Milky white eyes seemed to stare through me for a moment too long before she inclined her head in respect.
“Hello, Lord Dragon.”
“Good afternoon, Clymene.”
Head still partially bowed, she froze. Her eyes glazed over. A recently plucked rose fell from her hand as her expression went lax. I had only witnessed a handful of the centaur’s trances, but none had resulted in a positive message. A familiar sense of dread crept up my spine as I waited to discover exactly what fresh calamity fate had in store.
“I see a city,” she finally said, her expression oddly anxious. “A city poisoned by man’s technology.”
