Page 43

41

AN OLD MAN AND A FIRE

W ith secrets bubbling in my chest, I trailed my hands along the reliefs one last time and returned to the straight stairwell. I retrieved my slipper and stepped into the hallway once more, still intending to complete my mental map of the palace.

A few steps further and the glow of the dragon key died. Twenty more steps and I heard the crackle of a fire. No voices, no puttering noises. I was surprised that a place so grand would have so few people about, but if these were the servants' quarters, those servants would be working elsewhere.

Light seeped into the corridor from an open arch, and with it, the sound of a man muttering. The palace wasn't abandoned after all.

I inched up to the opening and took a peek. An old man was on one knee, his hands braced on the arms of a chair. A cane lay just beyond his reach on the floor. I hurried to him, put my hands on his ribs just below his arms, and lifted. His gasp was weak, but he took advantage of my help and hefted himself onto the chair, righting himself before he bothered to see the source of that help.

His eyes found mine, and he froze.

I took a step back. "Forgive me if I startled you.”

His smile was slow in coming. His cheeks wrinkled like paper. "I have never seen you before.”

“I’m…visiting.”

“Have you a name?”

“Asper.”

“Asper,” he repeated. “I wonder why you have not fled with the other younglings, to spend your last days where you will.”

"I confess," I whispered, “that I am not so sure we are dying.”

"Oh? Indulge me.” He patted the seat of the chair beside his, then steepled his fingers with his elbows on the arms of his chair.

I took advantage of his open nature and sat. He might be generous enough to answer some questions.

"First of all," I began, "I won't believe it until I ask Moire for myself. After all, the prophecy was given thousands of years ago. The chances of her words remaining intact are slim. And they say she has chosen gevri many times and has lost the memory of many of her visions. Maybe she doesn’t know the answers to my questions.”

“Perhaps others will have remembered.”

“Perhaps. But the details may have changed with every retelling. For all we know, the dragon that will signal our death might be red. And maybe it wasn't our doom but our salvation it was supposed to deliver. Words are so easily misspoken."

"Very wise," the old man said. "I dare say I am as ancient as the prophecy, and I cannot trust my own memory. Though I do not remember a red dragon mentioned." Then he laughed with more strength than I thought him capable of.

My hands still remembered the feel of his nearly bare bones. Though his shoulders were wide, there was little meat on him. A starving dragon wouldn't bother.

“Can I find you some food?”

“Not just now. I find I am only hungry for this conversation. Will you return here, after you’ve spoken to the prophetess, and share what she says?”

“Perhaps we can ask her together.” I gave him a wink. He was watching me closely. He knew what I wanted.

And again, he laughed. "Alas, you hope too much. At the present, I am out of Moire’s favor.”

“Oh.” I smiled anyway. “Are these servant’s quarters?”

“Yes. Once the place was teaming with them. Now, the palace is only home to the Ard Draoi and the loyal servants who intend to keep the king alive for as long as time permits."

“Yes, I heard he is ill.”

"The king is as ancient as I am. Perhaps he sees the coming of the blue dragon as his chance to find peace."

“If that were true, he could just command someone to take his head and be done with it.”

"Not very noble, though, is it?"

“Then maybe he should enter gevri. There is no shame in hibernation, is there?”

"Not for most. But if he has all of Hestia to care for, it would be a dereliction of his duty."

“Then perhaps he should abdicate that duty to his heir.”

"Ah. There is his predicament. No male heirs. Seven fine granddaughters, but six have chosen gevri, and the other is unwilling to take his burden. And no man can sit on the throne without royal blood in his veins. Any who dares to do so will die."

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

"Yes, well, a long time ago, the king thought that was a clever way to dissuade usurpers. And with all the time in the world, who could have guessed he would be left with no heir?"

I instantly thought of Griffon, who was the king’s grandson, but maybe the seraph didn’t want it widely known. Maybe none of these servants were aware that the tall gray-haired man was the king’s son.

I shrugged. “Maybe Moire should have known this was coming."

"Oh, now, don’t judge her too harshly. Her visions are but stops and starts, bits and bobs. An image in a dream that she must interpret. Thankfully, she keeps most of it to herself. Otherwise, she would have worn us ragged by now."

“You make it sound like it is a curse to be able to see the future.”

"Is it not? Look at what her knowing has brought us. On her advice…" He paused. When he spoke again, his voice was tired. "On Moire’s advice, the king sent his sons away. Had he not, one of those sons might already sit the throne. Or failing that, he might now have a dozen grandsons to choose from."

There was bitterness there that he couldn’t hide. I bit my lip and wished I hadn’t upset him so.

He carried on. "And had we not had the doom of the blue dragon hanging over our heads all these years, would we not have found a better way to evolve? Instead of a fine society, we have a society that reinvents itself every few centuries. The last time was the abolition of technology. We have chosen an almost primitive society out of fear.

“What will come next? Will the fear of dragons drive us to eliminate them all? Will the fear of magic mean the final destruction of all Everfolk? After all these years, heads are still being taken out of greed. Power is being concentrated, setting up another inevitable war.”

He inhaled deeply and seemed to deflate as the air seeped out his mouth. After a moment, I wondered if he’d forgotten I was there.

I’d studied The War of the Magi. When magic started to wane two thousand years ago, what had happened to Huxor ran rampant. And this man worried it would happen again.

I had suspected, but now I was certain… I stood and scooped up his cane, then offered it back to him. “Can I help you get back to your rooms, Your Majesty?”

His gaze shot to mine. He chuckled and shook his head. “Let them panic a while longer. But if you will go to the kitchen just down the hall, someone has left—completely unattended—a cake made of farcláid and morning berries. There is more than enough for an old king and his new friend.”