Page 26 of Mad Dragon of Chaos

Adrian grunted, dropping his condolences. There was little point. The faster they got this mess with the Order taken care of, the sooner Tyche and all the peoples of Thia would be safe.

NINE

TYCHE

Tyche blinked, and the stars in the velvety night sky blurred, but that was okay. He lifted the glazed ceramic jar to his lips and took another drink of the sweet plum wine. The dragons might not know shit about coffee, but they made a hell of a fantastic wine. A pleasant warmth was spreading down his throat and across his chest, helping him to forget about his ass, which had grown cold and numb from sitting on the ground.

After the fight with Damardor or New Rosanthe or whatever they were calling themselves now, the various leaders had closed themselves off from everyone else to talk about how to proceed with the war that was growing faster than anyone might have expected. Adrian had taken Haru somewhere quiet so he could rest.

That had left Tyche with nothing to occupy himself with. He didn’t know anything about global politics, and he didn’t want to know. No good would come of him meddling in the affairs of humans. In his opinion, it was sketchy for the God of Hope to be doubling as the king of Erya, but he knew that the country had lost its queen not long before Caelan had attained his new identity. He probably hadn’t wanted his people to go through mourning two rulers so quickly.

But in the end, it was none of his business. The only thing that mattered to him was getting Yesuntei’s powers out of Haru and delivered to Brightspire. That was something that would need to be discussed with Nori and the others, but first, they had to figure out their war.

Thankfully, the Omari dragons were a friendly bunch. They seemed content to feed him and show him around their home, explaining their way of life. It was not something he’d ever expected to be allowed to do. After Tula, Kaes, and Nyx started their war with the dragons thousands of years ago, Tyche had felt sure he’d never be able to talk to a dragon, let alone wander their sacred homes.

It was a peaceful life. The dragons kept to themselves, content to spend their long lifetimes mastering different art forms, meditating, and cooking delicious food. Tyche could see himself living in a hut near the Omari clan where he could maintain a handful of coffee plants. It would be nice to live near a group of people with long lifespans. He avoided humans because their lives were so short. Well, that and he didn’t age, and humans noticed that after a decade or two.

As night fell, the group remained locked away, so Tyche ate a pleasant dinner with Shou and Mika. Afterward, he snagged a bottle of wine and moseyed from the clan. He located a secluded spot in the woods that gave him a pleasant view of the stars as they popped out to sparkle in the sky.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Shey’s stern voice jolted Tyche from his wine-dulled thoughts. He jerked upright, clutching the nearly full jar of wine. He lifted his head, his eyes traveling up Shey’s strong legs, flat stomach, wide muscular chest to land on his grumpy expression. Even in the dim light, he could see the heavy scar cutting along Shey’s face, making his frown even more frightening. This man would have made an excellent God of War. Everything about him was fierce and powerful.

Except for when he smiled, which he did surprisingly often. Then his blue eyes warmed, the scar disappeared, and that weird flutter in the pit of Tyche’s stomach returned. What the hell was that about?

“I was about to send out a search party for you.” Shey dropped to sit next to Tyche. He leaned on the tree behind Tyche and plucked the jar out of his hands. A sound of protest broke from Tyche’s throat, but he’d yet to pull together words. Maybe he was feeling a bit buzzed from the wine.

His lips crooked into something like a grin. “You were going to send out a bunch of dragons to search for a god?”

Shey snorted and held up the jar, giving it a shake so that the wine sloshed about.

“Hey! Don’t spill it!” Tyche grabbed the jar and clutched it to his chest.

“You’re drunk. I would never have guessed that a god could get drunk.”

“Pfft. We can get lots of things, for your information. But no, I’m not drunk. Just a little bit…fuzzy.”

Shey reached out and stole the jar of wine again. Before Tyche could complain, Shey took a drink. Tyche’s eyes locked on the thick expanse of his throat, watching as his Adam’s apple hypnotically bobbed with each swallow. What would it feel like to nuzzle that throat? It would probably be so warm on his nose and lips.

“Whoa. That’s good. And strong.”

Shey’s words tugged Tyche from his random thoughts. Okay, so maybe he was fuzzier than he’d first thought. He accepted the jar from Shey and took a sip. “How’d the meeting go?”

The prince lounged on the ground, his shoulder pressing on Tyche’s as he sank low enough that their heads were at the same height. “About how you might expect.”

Tyche snorted. “I have no idea what kings and princes would talk about when another country makes up a bunch of bullshit and picks fights. You’re going to have to give me more than that.”

Shey’s smile returned, but it was short-lived. It fell away, and he reached for the jar that Tyche had set on the ground between them. “It was all about next steps and making a strategic response of equal weight.”

A pained groan left Tyche’s parted lips, and he tipped his head to the side so that his temple now rested on Shey’s shoulder. “What? Dumb it down for me. Assume I don’t speak politics.”

The muscular shoulder shook with silent laughter. “It means that Megumi and Uki wanted several squadrons of dragons to fly south to Aswa and burn the old New Rosanthe capital to the ground for daring to attack the Isle of Stone and Nori. Caelan said he wanted to send his navy to destroy all the Order’s boats while calling up his army to start its trek south to invade New Rosanthe through Ilon. Rayne argued that Caelan was holding on to an old grudge and that he couldn’t allow it to color his actions when the Federation of Order hadn’t technically declared war on Erya yet.”

Tyche was pretty sure that the dragons had the best plan, followed by Caelan, but he also didn’t give a shit about being diplomatic. The people running the Order were definitely in league with the people who were running the secret torture camps. They all needed to burn.

“What about you? What’s your opinion?”

Shey sighed and rested his head on Tyche’s. “Right now, I can’t have one.”