Page 67 of Wrath of the Dragons (Fear the Flames #2)

Chapter Forty-nine

Cayden

I perch on a railing and lean my back against the stairs that lead to the upper deck, twirling a knife on my bent knee while listening to the waves lap against the ship. The salt in the water smells stronger in the cave, so thick I can nearly taste it.

“This is ridiculous,” Saskia huffs. “We’re sitting around here like we’re waiting for a baby to wake up from their nap.”

“Well, it’s clear he nursed a bottle,” Elowen replies, turning away from where she strokes Venatrix’s snout. The dragon returns to the water at the loss of attention, sinking so deep only her head breaches the surface.

“What were we supposed to do?” Ryder throws a card down on the barrel between him and Finnian. “Negotiate with a drunk?”

“He’s slept long enough,” Saskia replies. “We’re wasting time. The matter needs to be resolved before we sail to the castle.”

Finnian stands from the wooden crate and dunks two tankards into the freshwater basin, striding to where Zarius passed out on a pile of sacks filled with grain. Rhys rests a hand on the hilt of his blade.

“Stay your hand,” Elowen warns, and growls echo through the cavern, creating a symphony of promised retaliation and ruthlessness.

Rhys’s shaking fingers loosen, and Finnian throws the contents of the first tankard at the prince. Zarius sputters and coughs, jolting up as he pushes his hair back from where it sticks to his face.

“Welcome back,” Finnian says in a cheerful tone, setting the other tankard beside Zarius and slapping the prince on the shoulder. Even Rhys can’t manage to hide a small smirk. “Problem solved.”

The dragons’ low growls continue echoing throughout the cave, but they remain out of sight.

I wonder if they sense the fear in Zarius and Rhys and wish to exploit it.

Elowen moves to rest her back against my thigh and crosses her arms in front of her as Rhys offers Zarius a hand up.

The pair of them make their way toward us, perching on two crates close to our section of the deck.

“Call off your beasts, queen,” Zarius says. “I’m awake.”

Elowen shows no outward sign of vexation, but one by one, the dragons emerge from the darkness at our backs with bared fangs, surrounding us with their heads as water droplets sizzle on their scales. “I suggest you never advise me on how to command my dragons.”

A crew member hands Zarius a roll to soak up some of the alcohol sloshing around in his stomach, but he hardly notices it, unable to pull his crimson gaze away from the dragons. “I meant no offense.”

“In order for you to offend me, I’d have to care what you think.” Elowen shrugs, unsheathing the knife at her waist, pointing to the bread with the tip of it. “Eat.”

“Why should I trust you enough to eat what you serve?”

“Because you’re currently worthless,” I respond.

His nostrils flare but he accepts it, biting off a chunk and washing it down with water as he flicks his eyes between us. “The bastard loves the princess and the world bleeds because of it.” He chuckles dryly. “Oh, I’ve heard lots about the two of you.”

“What else have you heard?” Ryder asks.

“The lovely Elowen is believed to be the most beautiful woman in Ravaryn, with a face that brought a kingdom to its knees. A woman blessed by the Goddess of Life, married a man blessed by the God of Death—it’s all quite poetic if you ask me.

Life and death, fire and water, stars and moon.

Some say you’re cursed, not blessed, and others say Elowen is a witch or an enchantress who bewitched Cayden.

” He turns to where Saskia stands beside Ryder.

“Though I’d love to get to know you more so I can figure out why exactly you’re staring at me as if you hate me. ”

Her lip curls and Ryder reaches for his sword, growling his warning. “Watch yourself.”

He’s always been protective of Sas. Not that I can blame him, but Saskia has proven time and time again to be able to hold her own against men.

I’ve seen her tear them down with nothing but words and a condescending sneer.

“I’d sooner pitch myself off the side of the ship than learn a single thing about you beyond what we need. ”

Zarius lifts his hands and pulls the top half of his wavy white hair back with a leather strap. He shifts uneasily under my gaze but tries to hide it with humor. “I’m still waiting to find out what exactly that is.”

“For you to take the Thirwen throne,” I say, not bothering to ease him into the topic.

Rhys straightens, his interest clearly piqued though suspicion lines his brown eyes.

Now that I’m able to get a better look at their faces under torchlight, I try to find similarities between the two.

Though they both have white hair, clearly for different reasons, there isn’t a single feature shared aside from their angular eyes.

Rhys is pale where Zarius is lightly tanned.

Even their builds are different—Rhys has the muscular build of a soldier whereas Zarius is slim, not scrawny but not bulky either.

“The throne?” Zarius echoes. “I’m not sure if you noticed, demon, but we’re not exactly in Thirwen, and though Rhys is good with a sword, he’s not an army.”

“We’re going to war against your father, unless you didn’t hear that between tales of my wife’s beauty,” I state the obvious.

“I don’t see what this has to do with me. I want no part of the throne. All it has brought me is death and despair.”

“The throne didn’t bring that to you. It’s an inanimate object,” Elowen interjects. “It’s the person who sits atop it who gives it life.”

“The greed woven within the very stones that construct it has brought me enough grief to last a lifetime.”

“Then resist it,” I state.

“Is that what you did when you conquered Vareveth?” he spits. “I watched my mother die right in front of me because she stopped being useful to the crown. You have no idea what that does to a person.”

His self-pity grates on me. Yes, I do know what that does to a person, and though I’ve nursed my demons with alcohol and violence, I didn’t let myself fall apart as he clearly has.

Anger held me together like mortar, fortifying me against the world.

I dryly chuckle. “I didn’t know it made you into a spineless prick. ”

Elowen pushes off the wall and sinks onto a crate across from Zarius, gliding her dragon daggers against each other. “Given you know who we are, I’m sure you know we don’t shy away from doing what we must to get what we want. You don’t need all your fingers to sit on a pretty chair, princeling.”

Rhys reaches for his sword, but Finnian steps forward. “I suggest you reconsider drawing a weapon against my queen. You’re severely outnumbered and won’t be able to protect your prince in death.”

The knight growls as he shoves the blade back into its sheath and I exchange a glance with Ryder. Finnian’s certainly come into his own since becoming Commander of Aestilian. He’s packed on more muscle and there’s a hardness to his voice that wasn’t there a few months ago.

“She threatened my prince.”

“A prince who—as he reminded us—has no army and no support regarding his claim to the throne. As of right now he’s worth no more than any individual walking the street,” I say. “We mean you no harm as of right now—”

“That’s comforting,” Zarius grumbles.

“But we will be taking you to the palace tomorrow, and you’re going to be on your best behavior and prepare yourself to take your father’s throne once we kill him.”

Zarius and Rhys exchange a long look filled with a silent conversation, but it’s the former who speaks first. “You plan to kill my father?”

I quirk a brow. “That is usually how wars end.”

“So you want me on the Thirwen throne because you think it’ll be easier to manipulate me than my father?”

“It’s not manipulation if you know our plan,” Saskia sneers, drawing Zarius’s attention again. She lifts her chin under his scrutinizing gaze.

“You’re not our enemy despite being born from one.

I believe we both can understand that,” Elowen begins, and Zarius slowly nods, a muscle fluttering in his jaw when he clenches his teeth.

“Answer me this: do you want to waste away in gambling dens in a foreign kingdom for the rest of your life while your father hunts you?”

He shakes his head, seeming like he hates to admit it, but Rhys looks relieved.

“Have you thought about avenging your mother?”

His nostrils flare and his shadowed eyes look to his boots. “Yes.”

“Our terms are simple: open trade between my kingdom, Galakin, and Thirwen. Fight with us on the battlefield so your people can see you still live.” She sheaths her knives and gets to her feet, waving a crewman forward.

“You’ll be taken to a cabin. Think on my offer, for I assure you a better one will not come along. ”

Saskia stares at the ocean as Zarius and Rhys are escorted below decks, as does Zarius until the moment before the door closes behind him and his red eyes find her one last time.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Tw—

Ryder storms toward me. “I hate that fucking bastard.”

“Technically he’s legitimate. Might I suggest you alter your insult to make it factually correct?”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Saskia is a grown woman who will cut off his balls if he pisses her off,” I say, knowing the root of his anger lies within Zarius’s attention settling on Saskia more than once.

“Drinks on the beach,” Elowen cheerily says, looping her arm through Saskia’s and gesturing for Finnian to take the other. Saskia honestly looks relieved to be getting off the ship as the pair cart her away with a bottle of liquor in each hand.