Page 89 of To Touch A Silent Fury

He paused, before giving me that same carrialwort smile. “Curious,” he said, as if it was anything but. He took a step closer, and my toes curled. “And your father. What do you know of him?”

I fought to keep my composure and to keep my voice light and pleasant. “He was a merchant.”

Braxthorn stepped forwards again, his fingers falling off the edge of the table. The silence was as deadly as Domin’s first storm.

“Why is this relevant, father?” Langnathin asked.

His interruption had cut the horrid tension, and I quickly took a breath.

Braxthorn forced a small chuckle. “I have never met a Soundlander with her… colouring, before. If I had to guess, I’d place her in the Tastelands, or even a Touchlander.”

The way he said it made my stomach turn.Or even a Touchlander.Like it was a dirty thing, a scandalous one. Which kingdom was worse to lay claim to, now? The one which had birthed me and raised me, or the one I claimed now, my home for the last span? Either made me an outsider, the two kingdoms which existed out of their Triad. To cling to both must make me something even worse.

I did not know if it was prudent for me to speak. It was not a question, not directly. It was an accusation.

Langnathin chimed in, his voice as unaffected as I had ever known it. “You have not spent time in the north in spans, father. Most of them are as pale as we are, but there are some with her colouring. Perhaps her father was a nomad.”

The urge to look at him, then, was hard to resist. It was a lie. One designed to help me. Why would he do that?

“Quite,” Braxthorn said. “I’ve never cared for the land. It reeks of sadness. Speaking of appearances, son. You will cut your hair at once. I will not have a son of mine with hair as long as a tribesman.”

The speed at which he dismissed an entire culture hit me. That had been a span of my life in those trees, and for all he knew, it was my entire life.

Langnathin made some noise of agreement. “As soon as we are concluded.”

Braxthorn paused again, and the room descended back into its frosty quiet. “My advisor is away on a trip, but he should return in the coming days. Until I can think on this and gain counsel, I will permit you to stay as a guest. Guarded, at all times. For your own protection, you understand.”

“Of course,” I replied.

He smiled, but it barely reached his cheek, let alone his piercing eyes. “The dragon will stay in my own chambers.”

Langnathin looked up from the table.

“Your Majesty, I must protest,” I said at once, stepping forwards. The Wragg grabbed my shoulder, and I stopped, my heart lurching. “I appreciate your kind offer. But the dragon must stay with me. He has yet to open his eyes, he is only a tenday old. Removing him from me now, when our bond is so fragile... I fear it will harm him, even kill him.”

Braxthorn waved his hand, and the Wragg released me. The king rubbed his cheek, giving me a calculating look. “Is that so?”

I nodded again. “I would request he stays with me until he is two seasons old. By the end of Heape, he may be old enough to be away from me for a short time.”

Braxthorn stared at me, and I dropped my gaze, the tension of the moment keeping my body rigid. “What do you think of this, son?” he asked Langnathin.

With my chin still dipped, I scanned the Dragon Prince. Again, he looked restless, like this conversation was far too dull to be spending this amount of time on. He didn’t look at me when he replied. “Let’s give her Tanmer. Then we can reassess.”

I frowned, despite myself.

I hadn’t expected his support, and why would I? He had betrayed me before, he had destroyed my very life, and I would not expect him to treat a Soundlander any better. But he seemed different since we had arrived in Droundhaven. Crueller. Maybe this was the true him.

And yet, he had lied about my colouring. In all my years up north, I had only seen a single person as dark-skinned as me, and it was a merchant I passed on my first day after arriving. In Gossamir, they were all as fair as the fallen snow.

Why would Langnathin protect me, and then advise my dragon be taken after a season? I didn’t understand him at all.

“Tanmer,” Braxthorn repeated, shifting his appraisal from his son back to me. “Fine. Only so long as it is good for the dragon, you understand. He needs to learn a sense of independence.”

I nodded, staring again at the floorboards. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Braxthorn stepped towards me, and the Wragg moved back to the door with a grunt of dissatisfaction.

My heart thundered as the king closed the distance. He reached up a hand, and it felt as if time itself had slowed down. Breathe in, I told myself. And out. I thought back to every pieceof Yvon’s advice, holding myself as the trees did, ever steady and living even as they did not move.