Page 23

Chapter 23

AESON GROWLS IN WARNING. MENACE vibrates in his tone, and determination and wrath are etched in his features. His dragon mark seems to ripple, and what’s strange is that I swear I can feel the movement across my own throat.

“They can’t have you,” he rumbles dangerously.

“Great,” I snark, rubbing my neck. “I’ll be sure to let the Tainted know that the next time I see them. No doubt they’ll apologize profusely and immediately leave the city, never to be seen again. My hero!”

Aeson’s glower is scorching, but now that I know he likes it when I go toe to toe with him, all it does is make me want to rile him up even more, see how far I can bend him before he snaps.

“Good to see that mouth is as tart as ever,” he mutters dryly, but I catch the spark of desire that flickers across his face as his eyes dart down to my lips before he quickly looks away.

“Did you just call me a tart, Spare?” I gasp dramatically, tilting away from him as though I just can’t believe my ears. “Don’t make me challenge you to a duel to restore my honor, Commander.”

Aeson opens his mouth to argue, but Commander Drazyn interrupts.

Cock block.

“We’ve strayed very far from the purpose of this meeting,” he points out, but his efforts to rein in the conversation are spoiled by the chuckle Commander Zeir lets loose when I flip Aeson off.

Abruptly, a loud knock fills the room. All eyes swing to the double doors as Gatlin moves to answer it. A male in bright red scale armor enters and then bows deeply.

“Scion, the initiates await your Call to Arms.”

The drake doesn’t wait for a response before he straightens and leaves. Gatlin shuts the doors behind the unexpected visitor, and I look around the room, trying to figure out what’s going on.

Call to Arms?

Are we at war?

Aeson stares at me, his gaze suddenly intense, and a tremor of awareness creeps up my spine and unfurls in my chest. He leans closer, and I realize that move is just as effective on me as it was on him earlier.

He’s in fitted black clothing that I didn’t take time to appreciate when I first walked in and needed to get the lay of the land. His top is some kind of supple leather, probably made from a rare animal with a price tag higher than I’m capable of counting to. The arms are a different fabric that molds to every muscle like it’s been poured on. There’s a hood that looks like it would cover his neck too if he pulled it up, and I wonder if it’s been designed that way to hide his dragon mark and face when he needs to.

It makes me think of the owl paparazzo from earlier and how he was following Aeson’s Wing members on the off chance they might see him. It’s hard for me to picture someone like him ever needing to hide, but I never thought about how hard it would be to just exist when everyone knows who you are and probably wants something from you.

I’ve lived a life of anonymity and inconspicuousness. I’ve clutched my secrets to my chest and, until now, have never been forced to reveal them. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live on the other side of that coin with everyone knowing everything there is to know about you, or thinking they do anyway.

He dips his chin and sort of looks at me through his lashes, like he’s preparing to tell me something of vital importance. My nerves start to quaver as he takes his time to speak. Did something happen? Did The Horde find the others? Is that who they’re going to war against?

“We’re going to protect you,” he finally tells me, and my gut sours even more, because what in the Blood Rite does that mean?

“Protect me?” I ask, and he nods solemnly. “From what exactly?”

His brow furrows as though he thought the answer was obvious. “From everything. From these Tainted, whoever they are. The blood brokers. From the dragons who betrayed your kith.”

Relief swarms me, and the wasps in my stomach instantly calm. Ens and the others are safe. He’s not threatening me.

“I know you don’t believe that, that you don’t trust us yet,” he continues, “but we will protect you. I will protect you, Ever. No matter what.”

Damn. The sound of my name on his lips is a potent shot I’m utterly unprepared for. Now I’m the one staring at his mouth, wondering if I would taste as good there as I sound. His fingers twitch, like he’s suppressing the urge to reach across the table and touch me, and I consider what I would do if he gave in to the impulse instead of fighting it?

Confusion permeates my sudden fervor, because this isn’t part of the plan. Yes, I need to make him think I’m interested, that I’m falling for him, but I’m not supposed to actually feel any of those things. Somehow his presence is poking holes in my good sense, and I don’t know whose game we’re playing here. I’m setting the terms and positioning the pieces, but somehow we’re playing on his board and he’s controlling the moves.

Before I can even attempt to wrangle my reaction and think of something to say, Aeson stands and then strides over to the far wall. The wall retracts at the commander’s approach and reveals what looks like a viewing box with several rows of descending seats and a large arena beyond.

Without a word, the commanders around me get up from the table and follow him. I watch them go, slightly unnerved, but eventually my curiosity edges out my apprehension, and I trail after them.

Aeson’s Wing moves with me, but I don’t bother asking any of them for answers. If anyone wanted me to be in the loop of what’s going on, they would have just told me. Besides, this tracks for The Horde; why be straightforward when you can be flashy?

The other commanders take a seat, but Aeson waits at the back of the box. His presence there feels like an invitation, and I let that thread of instinct tug me over to him. As I get closer, I’m able to see what appears to be a large training area below. Unease stirs in my center when I draw even with Aeson and take in the drakes all gathered in the center of the arena.

Rows and rows of them, standing in sharp formation, hands at their sides, feet together, eyes forward, and faces blank of all emotion. There must be fifty of them, mostly males, but a few females are sprinkled in too. They’re all wearing matching gear for forms: loose black pants and fitted tank tops. Dragon marks of all kinds wrap around limbs, peek out from under clothing, and decorate several shaved heads.

“Fledglings?” I ask Aeson as my eyes flit between the rows of individual soldiers.

“Flight Leaders,” he corrects. “Hoping to move up the ranks into a Wing. We put a call out a few days ago. They’ve answered it.”

Understanding washes over me, clearing away any lingering residue of doubt. A Call to Arms. This is what he meant. It’s an invitation.

“Are you filling ranks or forming a new Wing?”

My trepidation simmers to a tepid caution. I’ve heard about this kind of thing. Craith used to tell stories about the trials, contests, and sparring involved in advancing through the ranks of The Horde. He never referred to it as a Call to Arms, or knew much about dragon Wings, as wyverns were never allowed to be a part of them, but I’m instantly intrigued by whatever is happening.

“We’re forming a new Wing,” Aeson replies, his hawk-like stare keen as he surveys the turnout.

“Oh? Whose?” I ask politely, brushing my arm against his as I rise up on my tiptoes and pretend like I’m trying to get a better look at what’s happening down below.

He turns to me, and there’s an unexpected spark of satisfaction flickering across his face. “Yours,” he declares matter-of-factly, and then he glides down the stairs to the front of the box, and every head in the arena snaps up in perfect unison to greet him.

A ripple of fervent anticipation eddies through the waiting Flight Leaders, and my stomach drops.

Well, shit.

I know he said we’d address the whole Wing issue later, but I didn’t think he meant this. My irritated stare flickers over to Tove. Why do I once again feel like I’ve been set up? Did his Wing plant the owl shifter? Did they purposefully set off this whole chain reaction of trust issues just so I’d end up exactly where Aeson wants me?

Or is this all the commander’s doing? Enamor me with vows of protection and then dangle safety and trust like they’re pretty little baubles that are mine for the taking as long as they’re wrapped in a Wing-shaped package.

I force myself to inhale slowly and then exhale even slower. Nixy warned me. She said they moved fast. I knew they were cunning, but trying to anticipate all the ways they could be trapping me is going to make my head explode.

Now, if I can just get out of this Wing nonsense. The last thing I need is any more of Aeson’s spies buzzing around me, which is exactly what will happen if I don’t play this right. I need to counter his move, but how? And if I can’t, how do I use this to my advantage?

“Over the next five days, you have a chance to prove yourself,” Aeson declares, his voice booming through the arena. “It will not be easy. It will take everything you have and still demand more. Many of you will fail. And even if you succeed, you still have to be chosen for trial. This Call to Arms is a royal one. As always, the blood oath is to the death.”

A cheer goes up from the formation of drakes as though they’re celebrating the possibility of their impending death. Crazy fucking dragons. I wasn’t sold on the whole Wing idea, but I’m sure as shit not up for anything involving blood oaths and death decrees.

“Now…” Aeson bellows, a tinge of excitement echoing through the reverberation. “Show us what you’ve got. Show us what it means to be Horde! Begin!”

A roar of approval crashes through the arena, and I feel the ground under my feet tremble from the force of it. Goose bumps pebble my skin from the raw power, and I feel my own call to action pumping through my veins.

Aeson turns around and looks directly up at me. A cacophony of noise reaches our viewing box as instructors below begin to assign groups of drakes to run the various courses that have been set up around the arena. Several vid screens have materialized in front of the commanders. Some of them show live feeds of what’s happening on the ground, and others have still shots of the Flight Leaders who are participating, with their details and stats listed out. It would be an impressive setup if I had any interest in picking a winning team, which I don’t.

I can’t let this happen.

I have a Flight at home I’m responsible for, my own people to protect, and even though Aeson doesn’t know any of that, the way he’s trying to back me into a corner with this whole thing isn’t going to work for me.

I glare down at Aeson and then at the other commanders, who I realize are also now staring at me. I don’t even acknowledge Aeson’s Wing members, because fuck everyone at this point.

“No,” I assert, holding up my finger in that angry mom way that Saba uses on her kids. It always makes those vicious little wyverns listen; maybe it can work for me too.

“No to what?” Aeson asks, confused.

“No to all of it,” I declare, and then I turn and calmly walk away.

I have zero clue where I’m going, but they can run their little obstacle courses and play their Wing games all they want. I’m not going to sit here and make nice while they tie their puppet strings to me and try to force me to dance for them.

I don’t dance for anyone.

“Claws,” Aeson shouts, but I ignore him.

I make it to the table in the other room before I sense someone reaching for me. I duck to avoid the grab, and swipe a familiar butter knife from the table. Like the trained grappler he is, Aeson presses his advantage, trying to wrap me up in his massive arms and cage me in against his body. That sort of thing worked on me back in Lairwood, but I’ve had time to rest and recover since then.

I spin out of his grasp and do my best to kick his knee in. He jumps back, keeping the thick sole of my boot from cracking his patella like an egg. Ogdan approaches me from the side, so I grab a plate of food off the table and chuck it at him. He leans out of the way but then looks up at me with disgust when something from the plate splashes on his pristine onyx scale armor.

“That was uncalled for, lass,” he scolds, but I’m not distracted and turn to keep Sondar and Herm in my sights as they try to slink closer.

“Back off,” Aeson barks at his Wing, and instantly everyone gives us distance.

“Such good boys,” I taunt the guards, purposefully ignoring Tove, figuring it’ll irritate her more than any name-calling would.

“Stop taunting my Wing, Claws,” Aeson censures.

“Stop trying to corner me,” I counter, moving away from him as he advances.

“Is there a particular reason why you’ve armed yourself with a butter knife again?” he asks, stalking forward until we’ve done half a circuit around the table.

I shrug. “I keep warning you assholes not to touch me, and you keep trying to touch me.”

Aeson chuckles, and my butterflies decide to scramble the jets and fly formations in my stomach.

“So what’s the plan, Claws? You know…when you’ve made your way through the cutlery and fine china, how are you going to best all of us then?”

I quickly glance around the room, assessing my options. “The chairs look pretty sturdy, bet you I could do some damage with them,” I counter.

His smile grows even wider. “Why are you even mad? The Call to Arms just started,” he asks innocently, like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing.

“I don’t want a Wing, Aeson,” I tell him curtly.

“And why is that?” he asks, taking a step closer and pushing me another step back.

“For starters, I don’t need one.”

“Wrong,” he interjects. “Every prominent dragon receives a Wing. The king. His advisors. Members of the royal family. The nobles. We all have protection, it’s necessary.”

We take another half turn around the table.

“It’s not necessary . I’ve survived just fine without a Wing,” I point out, barely managing not to cringe at the weak argument. But it’s not like I can just tell him I know he’s putting on a convincing show of concern all so he can handpick an expert team of babysitters for me.

Aeson gives me a judgmental look, the kind that taunts you can do better than that.

Maybe if I were as skilled at deception and strategy as he is, I could.

“What is this?” I whisper-shout, gesturing to the spectators’ box. “Tove said making people think I was your mate for a little while would protect me. That I should play along, but it’s temporary… That doesn’t look temporary.” I wave a hand at the arena and plaster on my best doe-eyed, poor-me look.

Aeson’s smile immediately turns into a scowl, and he looks over at Tove, who’s shooting poisoned darts at me with her eyes. Pretty sure she’s never going to help me out again, not that we were exactly frolicking toward bestieship before this.

“I just got here. I’m not Horde. I’m not part of the royal family. And we’re not actually mates. Why do I have to choose a Wing now?”

We’ve almost circled the table for a third time, and it feels like some fucked-up game of chase. It’s pointless, and I don’t want to keep playing, yet stopping feels like giving in, and when it comes to dragons, if you give an inch, they’ll take everything .

“This has nothing to do with me and you, and everything to do with your safety…”

I open my mouth to argue that there is no him and me, but he cuts me off.

“You are Ever Tenebrae, daughter of King Merik Tenebrae. As the last Syphon, you are part of a royal kindred. Revealed or not, you are a dragon, which means you are part of The Horde. You need to be protected,” he tells me earnestly, his bright blue eyes fervent and his face resolute. “You’re one of us, Claws, stop fighting it.”

My heart lurches and rolls like it’s trying to avoid the points he’s making. He takes three strides closer this time, like he’s hoping I’ll finally allow myself to be caught, but once again I dance away.

“Do you even know how a Wing works?” he asks when I load another argument on my tongue and prepare to fire. “Members of a Wing are only beholden to their Heart,” he continues before I can say anything. “That’s what we call the dragon they vow to protect. You were right when you said that my Wing had divided loyalties. They will do what their Heart orders, but ultimately, if we’re both in danger, their vow of protection to me would overrule any order to protect you. There’s a lot of nuance to the relationship that’s hard to explain, but when you take a Wing, the only person they’re loyal to after their oath is you. Not even the king can supersede that.”

I throw up my hands in exasperation. “Why the fuck would a bunch of strangers want to make me their Heart? They don’t know me, and I don’t know them. That doesn’t engender trust on either side. It makes no sense.”

Out of nowhere, he leaps for me. I yelp with surprise, but I don’t react fast enough and instead of twisting out of range, I somehow make it easier for Aeson to pin me against the wall. He presses closer, his arms caging me in, and I impotently press the tip of my dull butter knife under his chin.

“That’s why there’s a Call to Arms. That’s just the beginning of how a Wing is formed. Each day for five days, the selection pool will narrow. On the last day, you’ll choose a select number of guards that you think will work best for you. After that, there’s a trial period where you’ll get to know them and they’ll get to know you. Once that probationary time is over, the final members of your Wing take their oaths, and everything is solidified in blood.”

I consider his words carefully, churning them around in my mind as I look for loopholes and traps, but he’s just so damn close it makes it hard to think straight. My pulse is loud and insistent in my ears, my chest is tight and heavy, and my lungs no longer seem interested in oxygen unless it’s laced with him.

“What’s to keep them from betraying me, from learning my secrets and vulnerabilities, and then quitting after the trial and selling me out to someone else?” I ask softly.

The smile he gives me feels like both a taunt and a promise. He surrounds me, pressing closer and completely overwhelming my senses. I snap into focus and remind myself that I can’t let Aeson Noctis beguile away my control. I need to steer this in a way that works for me.

Executing phase one of my plan, I let myself relax against him. Just enough to make him wonder if I’m softening toward him and subconsciously giving in. To play on the fight he also craves, I press my butter knife even harder against his skin.

To my surprise, I actually nick him. I didn’t know the buttery little bastard had it in him. I’d almost feel proud if I didn’t now have to watch a lone drop of blood slip down the muscles of Aeson’s throat.

Why does it smell so good?

Aeson reaches over and plucks the flatware from my hand. I don’t even put up a fight. We both know it’s done all the damage he’s going to allow. He drops his head a little, his weighted gaze roving over my face and pausing on the spot on my cheek where my dimple is currently hiding.

“Once your final trial starts, any drake that isn’t chosen to become a member of your Wing is put to death,” he explains in a tone of voice made for whispering dirty things instead of discussing the finer points of killing off Wing applicants. “From the moment they’re selected by you for that final trial, they know that they either earn a place by their Heart’s side or forfeit their life. And it’s not just one-sided. If you as a Heart prove unworthy, if your guards would rather die than swear an oath to you, that’s its own kind of death sentence. You would be left unprotected, and in our world, no one survives alone for long.”

I shake my head and at the same time run the back of my fingers lightly over his stomach, feigning absentmindedness, like I’m too lost in thought to realize what I’m doing. “I don’t think I’m ready for that kind of commitment, Aeson. It’s not you, it’s me. I’m just not in the right place in life, you know, for a death oath.”

A few muffled titters sound off from behind the commander, and I’m reminded that we have an audience.

In a deft move, I slip out between Aeson and the wall and put distance between us. A low growl rolls out of him as he turns and tracks me again.

Another drop of blood slips down his neck, painting a little line across one of the flames of his dragon mark. The unexpected wound only coaxes out a few drops, but in a world built on blood, it feels like a monumental waste. There are people out in Drameric that would kill for the miniscule amount carving a slow path down his throat, and yet he makes no move to staunch it.

He takes a step toward me, and something in his body language as he moves has me instinctively dropping into a defensive stance. He pauses and studies me for a moment. After a beat, he nods to himself like he’s come to some secretive conclusion.

“I’ll fight you for it,” he offers, and it takes a second for my brain to catch up with what he’s saying.

“Fight me for what?”

“For your Wing. You insist you don’t need protection, that you’re somehow the exception to the rule, so prove it. If you win, no Wing. If I win, you give at least ten drakes a final trial.”

I go still, his offer floating tenuously in the air between us. Ten drakes is a lot, but if I win… I study him, sizing him up, weighing the odds that I could actually come out on top. If I had more time to train, I might actually have a shot. That, or if I blindfolded him and tied his hands behind his back, I’d probably need to bind his feet while I’m at it, maybe a gag too…but I doubt I could get him on board for that.

“Four drakes,” I parry warily.

“Eight.”

“Six,” I rebut.

“Six,” he agrees…a little too quickly.

I want to argue, but technically I just got what I wanted. Besides, all I need to do is win and I can have zero Wing members.

“No affinities, you can’t call your scale armor, and I get to choose three weapons,” I haggle. It’s not blindfolded with bound hands and feet, but it’s better than nothing.

His answering smile is sly. “No affinities, I won’t call my scale armor, and I’ll do you one better than weapons, we’ll use a haptic simulator. That will make us as evenly matched as we can get.”

I scowl at him, not sure if I’m irritated or impressed with the way he just baited me. I should probably say no—he looks a little too eager for me to say yes—and yet I can’t help but wonder how I would fare against him. I got a little taste just now, and even though I know it’s dangerous to be gluttonous about it, I want more. And not this cat-and-mouse shit that we’ve been doing here. I want to see what I can really do against a dragon.

It’s risky, especially if we’re using tech I’ve never even heard of, but that’s never been a problem for me before. I do some of my best work when I’m up against the wall.

My smile is slow, but the gleam in my gaze is undeniably eager. My heart speeds up, and I can already feel adrenaline pumping through my veins just begging for release.

“Alright, Spare. You’ve got yourself a deal.”