Page 34 of Court of Embers (Dragonesse #2)
“He settled a bit after this. He seemed almost normal…if a bond-broken dragon can ever seem truly ‘normal’. Hiros thought he would eventually recant and call you back from exile, as Nasir clearly missed you both, and would fall into fugues of deep depression when either of you were mentioned. But he never did, and his period of normality eventually passed. In the last year, he was once again…out of his mind. Constantly ill, raving again about things that made no sense.”
“Who was with him?” I asked, but the coldness in my voice wasn’t for Treza.
“His advisors, of course—Lady Tyria, Historian Hiros. Aerona of Gilded Skies, his sole remaining mistress. Lady Kirana served as his healer for a brief time, until the Koressis Healer took over.”
“How often was Aerona with him? I wish to know more about her.”
Treza blinked at me. “Always. She was always with him. Until he grew violently ill and took to what we realized was his death-bed. At first, Hiros thought he might recover, but…we’d never seen him like this.
He was unable to eat, and…his saliva turned black and viscous.
He had open sores, these raw wounds in his back. ”
“Wounds?”
Treza raised a hand, tracing a circle in the air. “The wounds turned to silver, circular scars. Hiros postulated that they made his madness worse, and the Koressis Healer attested that he had never seen the like.”
A frisson of fear ran down my spine.
“It made no sense, and it was so fast. When Lady Tyria presented the idea that he might have been poisoned, something perhaps administered through those sores, Hiros begged her to keep it quiet. If the Houses knew he’d been murdered, it would be worse than an Interregnum.
He’d left no heir, no will, only madness.
The Houses wouldn’t be able to hold a Judgment if they were all at each other’s throats. ”
My lips felt permanently downturned. “If anything, it would’ve stopped the chaos. They would’ve had no choice but to come together for a single pressing reason. The murder of a Drakkon is no small matter.”
“Again, Princess…I am the lowliest of Historians. Hiros made the choice for us all.”
I question Hiros’s choices , Rhylan said, his voice frosty in my mind.
It doesn’t look good . The head Historian had been in on the sham of my exile, and my House’s dissolution. He’d been close to my father in his last days. And he’d made a judgment call that ensured no one knew that the Drakkon had been murdered, which might have ensured a brief time of peace.
I took a deep breath. “Treza, thank you. I’m sure I’ll have more questions for you, but for now, I want you to rest. Get real sleep in safety, eat again. We’ll reconvene tomorrow.”
Treza nodded, his eyes dimming again, and I knew that if he needed anything, it was a night in safety, to sleep in a bed rather than under a corpse. The questions had waited years; they could wait another night.
And my own mind was brimming once more, stuffed full with conflicting emotions and pieces of the story falling into place.
Not to mention the terrible, gnawing fear that had come over me.
Nilsa led Treza away to the quarters he’d been given. I wasted no time, grabbing Rhylan’s hand and dragging him upstairs.
When we were in his room, behind locked doors, I yanked his shirt up. “Take this off, now.”
Rhylan obeyed wordlessly. I motioned for him to lay down on his stomach.
I knelt on the bed next to him, running my palm over the expanse of smooth, golden skin, marred only by that gleaming constellation of silvery round circles.
You remember nothing of receiving these? I asked him again, running a thumb over one. It felt like any other scar tissue, smooth and thick. And you didn’t know Nasir had them?
No , Rhylan said, the tension in his mind infecting me.
His fear was locked in a box, drowned in a mental sea—but it was there.
I woke with raw patches, and they scarred over.
I remember nothing of it. And Nasir…nobody mentioned it to me.
Even Kirana had been shut out by the Royal Healer in the end.
I pressed a thumb against one of the scars. It felt…like scar tissue. That was it. Nothing extraordinary or suspicious stood out about them.
But to be safe, I prodded each and every one, wishing I’d had even a tenth of Kirana’s healing skills, though she’d no doubt looked over him herself.
She did , Rhylan said. In his mind I felt his turmoil; he was half frightened of the mysterious scars, and half soothed by my touch. She said they appeared to be merely scars .
But my fears went deeper than that. Nobody had suspected Yura’s affiliation with Ustrael at that time…well, nobody but my father. Who’d been so shattered he hadn’t had the sense to say something about his suspicions to anyone.
The familiar tide of anger towards him rose in me, its heat washing the iciness of fear away.
But still, I was afraid. Afraid of what these scars might signify, though I couldn’t imagine what could have made them. Their conformity was just too strange.
It was like someone had taken a razor-edged spoon and scooped cores of flesh from Rhylan’s back. I could think of no weapon that could do this.
I prodded one near his upper spine, feeling the lump of hard scar tissue beneath the silver circle, and moved my hand upwards to massage his neck.
As far as I can tell, they’re just scars , I admitted. But my father having them, too…that doesn’t sit well with me at all.
No . Rhylan sighed, his body slowly relaxing as I rubbed his shoulders.
And yet I could think of nothing else they might be. They were beyond my experience.
They’re not a side effect of anything , I mused, half to myself, half to Rhylan. You haven’t been poisoned .
And whatever it is, it can occur quickly, in the span of one night , Rhylan added. I didn’t even wake from the pain, though…I might have been too drunk.
It took a lot for a dragon to get that blasted. I couldn’t fathom what he’d been feeling that night to numb himself so intensely.
I exhaled, my thumbs moving down his spine and pressing into the tight muscles. At the next Court meeting, we’ll ask if anyone else has experienced this phenomenon. You, my father…
I paused. Rhylan and my father. The two dragons closest to the throne. It was so obvious, and yet…for what purpose ?
And moreover, how?
I shook my head. A headache was creeping in around my temples.
Poisoning, scarring, my father’s insane, terrible love…
it felt sacrilegious to say it, but at times, there was something to be said for the simplicity of Mistward.
Survive. That was the only prerogative. There were no plots within plots, no twisted Ascendants, no Drakkons embarking on long, convoluted plans to destroy a daughter’s life in order to save it.
And now I knew. I knew beyond a doubt that he had loved me, in his own warped way. Though I wish he’d been whole and sane, that he’d called the Houses together rather than driving them apart.
If not for one old dragon’s stubbornness, his madness, all of this might have been avoided.
I swallowed my bitterness. I had proof of his love, and that should be enough for me. Maybe he’d done it wrong. Maybe he’d irrevocably torn the Houses apart.
But he had loved me, and that’s all I’d wanted.
He did , Rhylan said sleepily. He loved you. But you’re going to shut your mind off for a while, Sera. Drink some sleep tea and rest. Tomorrow, we’re putting the Historian on the trail.
He’s young , I said doubtfully. And now the Royal Library is lost to us.
Not for long. The Ascendants are obligated to take care of their own . Rhylan rolled over, bringing me with him. They won’t let Isandoral suffer needlessly.
I wasn’t so sure. Not while Myst was hatching her own plots.
He might not know anything about Ustrael , I said, curling into Rhylan’s arms. I didn’t need tea; my body was exhausted after the adrenaline rush of escaping Koressis. It was only residual fear keeping me awake now.
No, but he’ll work his fingers to the bone to find out for you .
Rhylan snorted, stroking my hair. Didn’t you see the look in his eyes?
Pure puppy-dog worship. “Princess Serafina” this and that.
You weren’t the villain in that whole farce.
You were the wronged heir. There was something romantic in it to the younger dragons, the Drakkon’s daughter wrongfully exiled, needing rescue.
Oh, don’t , I said in disgust. Treza was older than I was. I didn’t need a puppy following me around. Besides, there was nothing romantic about surviving Mistward.
Fine, I won’t . He kissed the top of my head. But if there’s knowledge out there about Ustrael, I guarantee you, that Historian will find it .