Page 18

His Warmth

“ A kares was one of six dragon whisperers alive at the time, in?—”

“Dragon whisperers!” Garalas interrupts with a sharp tone. “What’s that supposed to be?”

“Father said they’re star elves who can control dragons,” Daeroal explains.

“And dragons are… what, exactly, darling?” Garalas asks, flicking his hair with exaggerated flair, letting it spill over Leorilon’s and Jaeowil’s faces. Whether he notices or cares is anyone’s guess.

Daeroal scratches at his neck, the movement growing more forceful with each word. “I don’t know for sure. I’ve heard they’re lizard-like beasts, as tall as mammoth trees, but?—”

“As tall as mammoth trees! How precious. And you believe that’s true?” Garalas taunts, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

“The story is true,” Daeroal insists, his voice steady. “What a dragon is, I can’t say for certain.”

“Thought so, snuffis . Now keep that sweet little mouth of yours shut and?—”

“Enough, Garalas!” Aeralon growls, his body tense and ready to defend his friend.

“You really shouldn’t speak about things you know nothing about,” I say to Garalas. “And by the way?—”

“Yes, what is it, darling?” he replies, squinting at me with exaggerated sweetness. His thick lips pout as he takes the opportunity to brush snow and pine needles from his sleeves.

“Speaking of Daeroal’s so-called ‘sweet little mouth,’ everyone knows yours is the sweetest, and by far the most feminine. Are you sure you haven’t been using Ruby Flower dye? Your lips look especially red today, wouldn’t you agree?”

Garalas bolts to his feet so quickly both Keelan and Leorilon are shoved aside. His mouth is agape in shock, and his long lashes flutter like startled moths. “What did you just say to me, you filthy elf? What?—”

“Quiet, Garalas!” Daeroal’s voice thunders, sharp and commanding, almost unrecognizable. “I’m trying to tell a story here! You’re free to leave if you don’t want to listen.”

Garalas shakes his head, throwing me a glare steeped in malice before sinking back into his seat. He mutters under his breath, holding his chin high as he brushes at his sleeves, pretending to rid them of dirt—dirt that isn’t there.

“Are you done?” Daeroal asks, his hands hovering over the nearest torch, so close that the flames leap and dance between his fingers. A gift only a sun elf possesses.

Garalas exhales loudly, exaggeratedly. “Yes, darling.”

“Good. Then let’s continue.”

I lean back, relaxing as I release my iron grip on the bars.

“For three hundred and seventy-three sun cycles, the dragon whisperers lived in harmony alongside one another. They worked together, supported one another, and served as a vital asset to Morthoth’s defense forces.

Initially, they were scattered across the lands, but Akares brought them together.

He ensured they grew and developed as a single, united force.

Even then, he had lofty ambitions and steadily advanced up the hierarchy. ”

He sighs, scratching at his thigh, his gaze fixed on the darkness beyond. The torchlight paints his face in shades of coral red. “Things went well for them. Everyone wanted to be on their side because they could control the dragons.”

“Go on,” I urge, and Aeralon chuckles softly.

Daeroal stares into the fire. “Akares ensured they allied with humans and dwarves. The strongest species besides the star elves, at least according to him. And that’s how the alliance was forged.”

Leorilon yawns, the flickering torchlight catching his teeth and making them look sharp, almost menacing. “Boring!”

“It was during that time Akares became the Scourge of the Star Elves,” Daeroal continues, undeterred. “At only seven hundred and seventy-four sun cycles, the youngest leader in their history.”

“Yes, yes,” Keelan says, waving a hand dismissively. “We know.”

“Shh!” I hiss, silencing him.

A boreal owl calls from the darkness. Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo . The sound startles me, making me flinch.

“But as the sun cycles passed, Akares grew restless,” Daeroal continues, scratching at his chin thoughtfully.

“His hunger for power consumed him. He wanted to be the only dragon whisperer, the strongest of all the star elves. As the Scourge, his mission became clear: to eliminate any threat to his dominance.”

He leans forward, once again stretching his hands into the flames. The fire laps at the backs of his hands, brushing over his nails and grazing his knuckles. Ash drifts to the ground, sizzling and burning as it lands in the snow and soil.

“What makes it even more intriguing,” Daeroal says, his tone dropping to a near whisper, “is that one of the other dragon whisperers, Sha’el, was deeply in love with him. But her love was unreturned. Akares’s heart held no room for such feelings. There was only darkness.”

“Is this a fiery love story?” Garalas exclaims, tossing his hair. Leorilon spits out a mouthful of stray strands with an annoyed hiss.

Daeroal absently scratches his smooth neck.

Like all elves, his face is devoid of any hair except for his eyebrows.

“When Akares finally decided to kill the other dragon whisperers, he did it cunningly. He eliminated them all. One by one by one. He struck when they were unarmed, preparing to rest for the night. To ensure as little resistance as possible.”

Most of them lean forward, their attention fixed on Daeroal. But not Garalas. He inspects his polished nails, tilting them toward the light and buffing them with exaggerated care. The sharp, unpleasant sound of his fingers rubbing against the surfaces grates on my nerves.

“Sha’el was the last,” Daeroal says. “Akares felt no regret when he drove his sword through her, despite knowing how deeply she loved him.”

“Now it’s getting interesting,” Garalas quips, flashing a grin at Keelan, who smirks back. “We do love a bit of blood.”

“But Sha’el was well-versed in Arzakean,” Daeroal continues, “as so many star elves are.”

Arzakean. Black magic. Demonic. If only I could wield it.

“And especially skilled with curses. So as the last drops of life drained from her, she grabbed Akares by the arm and forced him to meet her dying gaze.” Daeroal scratches his hand so fiercely it looks like he might tear the skin open.

“So dramatic,” Garalas says, his lips puckering in what he undoubtedly thinks is an alluring expression. But really, it makes him look like he has a baboon’s backside plastered across his face.

“Can you just stay quiet?” Daeroal snaps, his usual calm unraveling. It’s rare to see him this irritated. His patience is clearly at its limit.

“Of course, of course. You’re the boss, darling,” Garalas sneers, dragging his fingers lazily across his plump, damp lips.

I shudder, forcing myself to look away, but it’s futile. Like staring at a catastrophe in progress, my gaze is drawn to him despite my revulsion, as if some inner demon compels me to witness it.

“Sha’el locked eyes with Akares. And cursed him,” Daeroal says, his voice lowering for effect.

“What was the curse?” I ask, leaning forward, unable to resist the story’s pull.

“That part, I don’t exactly remember.”

“You don’t remember?”

“No. Sorry, truly. Something about happiness, love, emotions… and death. Something that was lost, I think. I wasn’t paying much attention when Father explained that part.”

“You know, I’ve heard that all his lovers die.” Keelan grins. “Could that have been the curse?”

Daeroal scratches his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. That sounds like an unfounded rumor.”

“I’ve heard that everyone he kills dies,” Jaeowil says, then pauses. “Wait, no. That came out wrong.”

“No, darlings,” Garalas interjects, fluttering his thick lashes dramatically. “Everyone he loves dies.”

“You’re wrong,” Leorilon counters with a yawn. “It’s everyone who loves him who dies. That’s the truth of it.”

Aeralon shakes his head. “That’s not what I’ve heard.”

“Aw, and what have you heard then , snuffis?” Garalas purrs, his voice so silky it could mend a wound, so melodic it might lull someone to their death. As deceptive as a serpent’s tongue.

“That everyone he kills ends up in Sarnet, the dreadful spirit veil to the underworld Saxx.”

“Why would Sha’el curse him with that? It’s not something that ’Ksnaka would even be affected by.”

Aeralon shrugs.

“Furthermore,” Daeroal says, his voice cutting through the stillness, commanding attention.

He shifts in the slushy snow, his clothes smeared with wet, earthy soil.

The torch should’ve been closer to the center.

“It’s said he continued to kill every dragon whisperer born after him, rare as they were, until no more were born.

Until the legend faded into oblivion countless sun cycles ago.

And so, he became the strongest living elf in Sarador, unmatched in power. ”

“Of course,” I snap, drawing a sharp breath as my grip tightens around the bars, rattling them unintentionally. “That serpent can’t help but destroy everything around him, can he? I hope Sha’el cursed him with something truly, truly vile!”

“Calm down.” Aeralon laughs, his head bobbing. “It’s just a story. Probably not even true.”

“It’s true,” Daeroal says, his tone serious. “Even now, Akares wanders his castle. Even now, he’s tormented by the curse. Even now?—”

“The last thing I heard was that his soldiers massacred an entire village of innocent tree elves in the east,” I mutter. “But go ahead and feel sorry for him.”

“You’re not supposed to feel sorry for him,” Daeroal says. “You don’t have to feel anything at all.”

“Aw!” Garalas exclaims, his broad, greasy smile turning toward me, lips pressed tight and glistening.

“I know you hate him more than anyone else in Sarador, darling. And I understand. Truly, I do.” His voice shifts, dripping with mockery, as if addressing a child.

“You’re a sweet little sun elf who desperately wants to kill Akares.

But you’re far too weak for that, my dear.

You’re not even allowed to wield weapons, and?—”

“Weak? In Saxx?—”

“Let me finish, snuffis,” he cuts in, his voice smooth as silk. “I have the most brilliant idea for you, so please pay attention.” He tosses his hair with a practiced flair, the torchlight casting sharp, taunting shadows across his cheekbones as he glares down at me with smug amusement.

I cross my arms, watching him through narrowed eyes, every muscle in my body tense.

“It’s simple.” His grin turns sickly sweet. “Make him fall in love with you.”

“Excuse me?” My voice sharpens, and my mouth falls open as my nails dig into the cold metal bars. I inhale deeply, and the sharp tang of rust and iron floods my senses, clinging to my tongue like tar.

“It might be a challenge, I know. Considering how you look and all.”

With a pointed glance, he arches his barely-there eyebrows, thin and almost transparent. “I mean, you don’t have my genes.” He laughs, light and airy. “But come on now, don’t look so appalled.”

“You can go and?—”

“As I said,” he interrupts. “Make him fall for you. You know, like the sweet little elf woman you are. And when he least expects it, you can stab him with your sword. Oh… Aw… Right.” His smile twists into a mock frown.

“You’re not allowed to use swords, are you?

Maybe you could bite him instead? Or kick him in the shin? ”

I smile back, tight and forced. “Or perhaps you could make him fall for you , Garalas. Have you thought about that? After all, you look rather like a woman, don’t you?”

Keelan bursts out laughing. “It’s true! It’s true!”

Aeralon smirks, patting my fingers without even looking back. For a moment, silence lingers, just the faint crackle of sparks in the air, before laughter erupts from everyone.

Garalas flushes a deep cherry-red, his mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air, no words managing to escape. I can’t hold back my laughter, giggling loudly as I slap Aeralon’s shoulder.

“Iszaelda, stop!” he yelps, half laughing, half complaining. “That hurts!”

Still grinning, I wrap my arms around his neck and lean my forehead against the cool metal bars. I breathe deeply, taking in the familiar scent of leather, pine, granite, and soap.

His warmth radiates toward me.