Page 83 of Valor’s Flight (The New Protectorate #5)

Alashiya didn’t like New York. Taevas hadn’t exactly thought she would.

He couldn’t blame her. He was used to the constant movement, the vast swaths of concrete and towering buildings that seemed to cling together in strange clumps.

People living on top of each other, everyone moving in step and yet to their own rhythm, was simply another part of life.

But to his mate, it was almost incomprehensible.

The air smelled wrong, she said. The lack of greenery appalled her. Even the feeling of the sidewalk under her feet made her uncomfortable, like a cat walking on plastic wrap.

The first time he took her to their other roost in Manhattan, she refused to leave it except for one very important excursion: the visit to Stalton’s Atelier.

Alashiya, dressed in a long green coat, new faux leather boots, and the minimum of what he considered the respectable amount of jewelry for his mate to wear, stood beside him.

She turned her face up to look at the old storefront.

Snowflakes stuck to her luscious curls and the tips of her eyelashes.

As usual, her gloved hand was tucked into the crook of his elbow.

Everytime she breathed, a puff of steam drifted in the frigid air.

She quirked a brow. “Well, I can honestly say that I’m underwhelmed. I always pictured it to be… bigger. And newer.”

“It’s been in this spot for two hundred years.

Shops weren’t big back then, and they haven’t really changed much since they opened,” he explained, pointing to the faded gold sign in the window.

The building was old and charming in its own way, but it was definitely showing its age.

The antique veneer gave the shop an air of sophistication and legacy, though, which helped it stay in business.

What also helped, of course, was taking the vast majority of the profit from selling his mate’s labor. Amongst other unsavory business practices he’d discovered.

Grinning, Taevas grasped the tarnished brass knob and pulled the door open. Ushering Alashiya in ahead of him, his gaze swept across the familiar shop. The scents of dust, fabric, glass cleaner, and an old man’s cologne washed over him as he stepped inside.

There was no one behind the long glass counter, but that wasn’t a surprise. He’d made sure that it was Stalton Sr. working that day, and the old man tended to take long lunches. He could afford to, after all.

Peeling off his gloves a finger at a time, Taevas watched Alashiya move around the small shop.

If he didn’t know what went on behind closed doors — and in their account books — he would say the place was charming in an old world sort of way.

The shelves were cluttered, the glass cases full, and the racks draped with handmade garments made of the finest fabrics.

Milk glass lamps cast the shop in a soft glow that sparkled off of brass fixtures.

It was the kind of place that boxed its magically enhanced garments and tied them with fabric ribbons. It was also the kind of place that stole from his mate. And him.

The loss of her gifts and the criminally low pay were bad enough. But what really pissed him off was the stolen time.

Bending over a glass display case, Alashiya whispered, “Is this where you first saw my work?”

Taevas sidled up behind her. Flattening his hand on the small of her back, he pointed to a spot to her left. “Right there, where the ties are now. I wandered in after a meeting went too long and needed a break. I saw it and just… had to have it.”

“The one with the sparrows, right?” she recalled, drawing on her vast internal inventory of his wardrobe.

Alashiya took it as her duty to go through everything he owned at least once a month, searching for tears, holes, and loose buttons.

Infusing his clothing with more of her magic, more of her blood, was a sacred act of care for her.

It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that she was more familiar with his wardrobe than he was.

“Exactly.” He rested his chin on top of her head. “I should wear it more, but it’s so hard to choose when I have so many wonderful pieces of art to pick from every day.”

“Welcome, welcome!” an old man’s voice came from the darkened doorway behind the counter.

The sound of shuffling feet preceded the appearance of the old, weathered dragon.

His teal skin was lined with deep wrinkles, his shorn hair was white, and his wool waistcoat was accessorized with a gleaming gold watch chain.

Stalton Sr. hadn’t changed a bit since Taevas saw him last, and neither had the old man’s reactions.

His eyes widened comically as he finally spied who exactly stood on the other side of the display case.

Straightening his spine, he squawked, “Isand! Oh! Oh! It’s so good to see you again!”

“Stalton,” he greeted, his smile full of fang.

Completely ignoring Alashiya, the old man rushed up to the case.

Words left his mouth at a rapid pace, hardly leaving room for a breath, let alone a thought.

“Oh, the news was just so terrible. I was worried about you — well, weren’t we all!

Gods bless you, Isand. I couldn’t tell you how happy we all were when we saw you’d come back to us.

Though I never had a doubt you would. Never, never. ”

“I’m certainly glad to be back,” Taevas replied, cutting off the torrent. Pulling Alashiya into his side, he waited for some recognition to light the man’s eyes, but it never came. “This is my Chosen, the Emand Alashiya Ardz.”

At last, some understanding lit Stalton Sr.’s face. He rushed to shake her hand, his arms pumping enthusiastically. “Ah, the new Emand! Welcome! I’m so glad to welcome you to my family’s atelier.”

Alashiya’s smile was thin-lipped and anticipatory. “Thank you. I’ve been looking forward to seeing it for a very long time.”

The fact that Stalton Sr. appeared to have no idea that he was talking to the same woman he’d been stealing from for decades made the seething rage burn that much hotter in his gut. Did he not even know her name? It wasn’t exactly common.

To think his Chosen meant so little to this man that her name didn’t even ring a bell…

Taevas tried to quell the rattling of his tail as he gently steered Alashiya back by her shoulders. He didn’t want her in the crossfire when he did what he came here for.

Glancing between them, Stalton Sr. asked, “Was there something specific you were looking for?”

“There is, actually.” Taevas planted his palms on the glass display case. “What did you do with all my gifts, Stalton?”

“Gifts?”

“Everything you were supposed to forward to the artisan whose work I’ve bought at every opportunity.

You know, the one you claimed didn’t want to have any contact with me.

The one you lied about.” His smile fell.

Fire licked up his throat to tickle the backs of his teeth when he snarled, “The artisan who happens to be my Chosen, the nymph standing right fucking here.”

The color drained from Stalton Sr.’s aged face. His wide eyes flicked back and forth between Taevas and Alashiya, who stood patiently to one side, her arms crossed and expression unbothered.

She didn’t have much of a stomach for revenge, but she appreciated justice.

That was why she made a cake when Monty was sentenced to jail for aiding an attempt on the Isand’s life and trespassing on her land.

It was also why she didn’t protest when he said he wanted to get back everything she was owed.

It was a matter of honor. This man had made himself an obstacle between a dragon and his Chosen — a very, very unwise decision.

“Is that… Are you really one of my artisans?” he sputtered, eyeing her with renewed interest.

Alashiya gave him a pitying look. “I am. Do you remember when I asked for ITA’s name? You said it was none of my business. And you told him that I had no interest in talking to him when he asked for me.”

Taevas drummed his claws on the glass case.

“For years. I asked to speak to her for years. And when I sent gifts for her, you told me you’d send them along.

But I’ve been to my Chosen’s dwelling, Stalton.

There are no gifts. No silk. No art. No custom desk or platinum watch or European chocolate or books on wildflowers. Nothing.”

Putting up his hands, Stalton Sr. let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s not… Things get lost in the mail so often. Isand, I— I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You do,” Taevas replied. He rose to his full height and tilted his head toward the door behind the counter.

“And you are going to return everything I sent to my Chosen today or I’m going to officially recommend your case to the ’Riik’s auditors.

I’m sure they’d love to see what my investigators have found in your books. ”

Stalton’s lined face went white. “But—”

Taevas held up a hand. Turning his head to look at his mate, he said, “You know what, metsalill? I’ve changed my mind.”

Alashiya let out a huff, no doubt sensing some theatrics were to come. “About what?”

“I’m going to report him to the auditors regardless.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he announced, swinging his head back around to bare his teeth at the old man.

“Because you don’t get a reward, Stalton.

You don’t get an out. You’re going to give my Chosen what she’s owed, and then you’re going to suffer the consequences of your actions — all of them, including the smuggling you and your sons have been doing. ”

“Smuggling, huh?” Alashiya wasn’t good at pretending to be surprised, but that was okay. He loved the bland amusement in her voice.

Holding Stalton’s panicked gaze, he confirmed, “Smuggling banned m-enhanced artifacts and antiques. Incomplete reporting to the tax board. Stealing from the Isand himself. Quite the list of infractions you’ve racked up, Stalton.”

The old man looked like he was having a hard time catching up. His mouth opened and closed several times while sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.

Taevas clapped his hands. Stepping back toward his mate, he commanded, “Apologize to your Emand, Stalton.”

The poor man still looked too stunned to really understand what he was apologizing for, let alone mean it, but he choked out, “I’m— If I did anything to you, I apologize. I had no idea— I wouldn’t—”

“Yes, I’m sure you wouldn’t have if you knew, but that’s not the point, is it? You should’ve treated her with respect before. You didn’t, and that was a mistake.” Taevas laid his hand on Alashiya’s back and guided her toward the door. “I’ll be collecting my Chosen’s gifts today, Stalton.”

Alashiya glanced over her shoulder as he ushered her out the door. “Good luck.”

Taevas held the door open for the first officer who slipped inside. Three more followed after him. An entire small fleet of officers waited on the street outside, accompanied by both the Isand and the Emand’s Wings. Taevas passed them with a nod and a smile, entirely satisfied.

Wrapping her arm around his waist, Alashiya asked, “Happy now?”

“Oh, very. Do you want to get some dinner?”

Looking up at him with a soft smile, she offered, “How about we just go home? I miss our nest.”

“Ah, my queen,” he sighed, coiling his tail possessively around her wrist. “Home it is.”

THE END