Page 14 of Rhapsody of Ruin (Kingdoms of Ash and Wonder #1)
Rhydor
The clang of iron against iron rang sharp in the training court, a rhythm I had grown up with, one that usually steadied me. Today, it grated.
The court had given us this space grudgingly, a square of warded marble tucked inside the side armory, open to the twilight sky through a balcony lined with balustrades.
Silver fire guttered in braziers, throwing long shadows across the floor.
The air smelled of steel polish and faint incense, two scents that did not belong together but had been forced to share the same air. Like us and them.
My veterans drilled in formation, sweat gleaming on their skin, movements measured.
Torian watched from the corner, arms crossed, his gaze tracking every pivot and feint with a strategist’s eye.
Tharos’s iron hand struck against a practice blade, the sound like a hammer ringing on an anvil.
Draven leaned too much into his parries, always performing even when no one asked.
Brenn laughed loud as he caught a thrust and twisted, flame-red hair damp with sweat.
Korrath called counts from the sidelines, cane tapping with each rhythm.
Above us, on the balcony, a cluster of Fae pages lounged. They wore masks too large for their faces, their voices high with youth, sharp with cruelty. Their laughter dripped down like acid.
“Beasts on leashes,” one of them said, loud enough to carry.
Another wove glamour into the air, threads of shimmer pulling into shape. I stiffened as the illusion formed. A child’s laugh. Thin. Familiar.
The dragonborn sparring in the center froze. His spear lowered an inch. His eyes widened, horror and recognition shattering his focus.
The glamour sharpened into a face. A little girl, her braids crooked, her eyes bright. The exact image of the child he had buried two winters ago when the Hollowing still clawed at our borders.
The retainer roared and lunged, spear driving upward, aimed not at the illusion but at the laughing page behind it.
I moved.
My boots struck marble hard. My hand shot out, catching the shaft of his spear before it left the ground. The weight jolted through my arm, the force of his grief nearly ripping free. “Stand down,” I snapped, fire snapping at the edges of my voice.
His chest heaved. His eyes burned with anguish, locked on the illusion even as it dissolved into silver smoke.
“Now,” I barked.
His hands shook, but he obeyed, loosening his grip. The spear clattered to the marble. He bowed his head, shame thick on his shoulders.
I turned, slow, deliberate, to the pages above. “Protocol of the hall requires apology when offense is given,” I said, my voice carrying. “By your own house codes, you will speak it now.”
They shifted, uneasy under my stare, but none moved.
And then a slow clap broke the silence.
Iriel stepped from the archway, his mask gleaming faintly, his smile sharp. “Sport,” he drawled. “Surely you don’t begrudge boys their games?”
“Games,” I said flatly, “do not dig up the dead.”
The air between us tightened. The pages froze, their smirks fading.
I let my voice rise, cold as the steel in my hand. “By statute of court safety, I place this page under formal warning. The next offense is expulsion.”
A ripple of shock moved through the gallery. The page in question blanched, his glamour threads collapsing into smoke.
Iriel’s smile thinned, brittle. “Dragons quoting our laws. What next?”
“Respect,” I said, “for the rules you pretend to live by.”
For a heartbeat, the court seemed to teeter, as if waiting for fire to break from my throat. But I did not give them fire. I gave them iron.
The page stammered an apology down into the court. Thin, forced, but spoken.
The retainer sagged, his breath ragged. Shame streaked his face deeper than fury had. He dropped to one knee, muttering broken words.
I touched his shoulder. “Armory duty for the day,” I said, steady but not cruel. “Steel steadies the hand better than grief on a battlefield.”
His head bowed lower. “Yes, my prince.”
Torian stepped close as I watched him leave. His voice was quiet, cutting. “We cannot keep surviving these moments. Every day they bait, and every day we swat back. We must start winning favors, not just stopping losses.”
He was right.
I exhaled, feeling the iron weight in my chest. “Then we play their game.”
“You hate their game.”
“I do.” My jaw clenched. “But I will not let them decide the field alone. Tonight, at the audience, we start making moves of our own.”
Torian’s gaze sharpened. “Calculated moves. Not just fire.”
I nodded once. “Calculated.”
Across the court, Sir Thalen stood in the shadows, helm tucked beneath his arm. His eyes had not left me since I caught the spear. Awe lingered there, but more than awe, curiosity. He had seen my restraint. He would remember it.
Let him.
The court wanted a beast. Tonight, I would give them a dragon who knew their laws better than they did. And when Elowyn forced me into step beside her again, and she would, I would be ready.