by T. A. White
A piercing pain stabbed at Tate’s brain the longer she looked at it. Wrongness emanated from the metal, infecting Tate’s insides and trying to twist them into a misshapen mess.
The dragon’s hiss came from Tate’s mouth as she retreated several steps back up the staircase. Instinctively, she lifted a hand to shield her eyes, though no light shone from the blade.
Despite that, the discomfort didn’t fade even when she closed her eyes for a brief moment before opening them again.
“It’s called Dragon’s Torment. It’s a relic that’s been around for centuries. Rumor has it that it predates the empire. Only a few throughout history have ever been able to bond with it. My father’s family line has an affinity. We’ve contributed the most dragon slayers of any family.”
Tate squinted at the relic, something about it making her not able to look at it fully. “What I’m getting from this is the blade is the actual dragon slayer.”
And the reason for her title.
“You could say that.”
Tate forced herself to concentrate, despite the urge to retreat until she’d put an entire continent between herself and the blade named Torment.
In the back of her mind, Ilith was beside herself with fury. Hisses and growls came from her dragon as she curled into a tight ball.
From Ilith’s behavior, Tate could tell the relic had even more of an effect on her. Strange considering Ilith wasn’t ascendant at the moment. The world should have been nothing but a distant dream to her.
Tate struggled to concentrate on George with Ilith’s rage and fear beating at her mind. It was dangerous to be distracted in this moment with George still holding a weapon that could easily end the two of them.
A cold stole through Tate, originating from a spot in her chest, near her heart. Its ice replaced the pain, separating her from it as George brandished the weapon with a satisfied look.
The feeling built and built until something in her mind snapped. Clarity filled the void. One that felt different than the type Ilith provided when their minds merged. When that happened, it left Tate feeling disconnected. Cold and merciless. Emotions didn’t matter in that state. Only results.
This felt different. Offering the crisp, clear thinking but without the loss of the things that made Tate, Tate.
The pressure exerted by the blade lessened. Not entirely but enough. Suddenly it felt like Tate could function again. She dropped the hand that had been shielding her eyes, staring at the obsidian blade. With the mental clarity offered by the ice in her veins, she could now see the dark light radiating from it.
Small tendrils hovered a few inches away from Tate, eating away at the invisible aura she carried.
So that’s where the feeling of doom and hopelessness came from.
The blade was trying to consume her, leaving nothing but the darker emotions behind.
More interesting was the fact those same tendrils were attached to George, feeding on her in the same way they were Tate.
While Tate was distracted, George held the blade out to her, hilt first with an impish grin. “I don’t suppose you’d want to hold it?”
There was an arrogance in George’s expression that said she was already anticipating Tate’s rejection. There was a reason she’d chosen to pull the Dragon’s Torment and demonstrate her abilities in this fashion. She’d hoped to cow Tate. To reclaim her pride.
Only problem was her victim this time was Tate, who wasn’t exactly known for her ability to make wise decisions that included turning the other cheek.
Tate’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “Don’t mind if I do.”
George’s expression faltered as Tate took the blade from her.
Tate kept her hiss of pain silent, hardening her face so she didn’t reveal the sudden agony rising from the places where her hand touched the blade.
She breathed through it, lifting the blade to take a closer look. There was a reason beyond foolish pride that she’d chosen to touch the blade. Someone had once told her you needed to know your enemies before the first blow was struck to secure victory.
Now, when George had no order to kill her, was the best time to examine the weapon. To find out its weakness in case it was one day turned against her.
Ilith paced back and forth in her mind, her entire attention locked on the threat Tate was holding.
Destroy it, Ilith urged.
Not yet.
It’s an abomination.
You know what this is?
Ilith went quiet, withdrawing to the corner of Tate’s mind again. Tate settled in to examine the blade carefully, noting every detail.
The metal was unlike any other sword she’d ever held and contained a glass like luster. Despite that, it still appeared sturdy and durable. Not a single chip or blemish marring its length. It was also far lighter than its size suggested. And sharp. Extremely so.
It’d have to be to cut through a dragon’s scales.
When the blade’s light tried to nip at her fingers and latch onto it, Tate held it off with her mind, forcing those soul eating tendrils back into the blade.
The knot in Tate’s chest loosened and she inhaled for what felt like the first time since George formed the blade.
“Unruly bastard,” Tate muttered.
She didn’t know how but she had a feeling from now on, the sword would obey if she was holding it.
“How did you do that?” George asked in a sharp voice.
Oh ho, George could see the black tendrils, Tate realized. She hadn’t been sure. Just because George could use the relic didn’t necessarily mean she knew how it worked.
Tate gave her a sweet smile and handed the Torment back. “Relics do weird things around me.”
Her words weren’t anything but the truth. Relics really did act oddly around her. Artifacts that hadn’t worked in centuries suddenly found new life. It was like she was catnip and they her adoring addicts.
This was different, however. Tate could feel on some level that the ability she’d always possessed, had deepened, turning into something unexpected.
George was slow to take her blade, her expression almost grudging as if she didn’t want to believe Tate’s words. Tate didn’t care, satisfied that she’d turned George’s prank against her.
“Shall we continue?” Tate asked. “After all, we shouldn’t keep the emperor waiting.”
George’s lips tightened before she stalked down the steps, moving faster than before.
“Nicely done,” Ben murmured as he brushed past Tate.
“I try.”
Tate struggled to conceal her smirk as Ben started after his partner.
It wasn’t her fault George had lost their little game. If she didn’t want her little toy tamed, she shouldn’t have taken it out in the first place.
Only when she was sure they couldn’t see her face did her expression fade as she glanced down at the hand that had held the Torment, feeling as if it belonged to someone else. She didn’t know what that was all about. How she could suddenly see the invisible dark light or how she could force those tendrils to obey.
One thing was clear. Something about her abilities had changed when it came to relics.
* * *
It didn’t take long after the confrontation before they approached their destination. Two statues flanked the staircase, their right arms uplifted as they reached toward each other, their hands almost, but not quite, touching. Less than an inch wide gap separated their fingers.
Tate found herself drawn to the statues. The one on the right wore a full-bodied armor Tate recognized from her memories. Its like had probably not been seen for centuries. Slimmer fitting and less bulky than the armor the soldiers wore today, it clung to the man’s figure, protecting every inch of him. Only his face was visible, strain written on the strong plains of his features. Duty was stamped in the jut of his jaw and line of his mouth.
He looked resigned yet determined.
By contrast, the woman appeared frozen in time as an inv
isible wind whipped hair across her face, concealing her features. Instead of armor, she wore a shapeless shift that fluttered in that same breeze.
Although it was impossible to read her expression, Tate thought she could see desperation in her pose. Something about it unsettled her, though she couldn’t tell if that was a result of her increasingly antsy dragon, the issue with George’s blade, or a product of their surroundings.
There was a feel in the air that was hard to define, putting Tate on edge and stringing her nerves so tight she thought they might snap given the slightest provocation.
“We’re here,” George stated, coming to a stop.
Preoccupied with the statues, Tate almost missed the group waiting a few steps above the monuments. Several faces she wasn’t expecting turned to look at them.
Before she could get more than a glance at the rest, Dewdrop waved at her, breaking from the crowd and rushing up the stairs. “Finally. We’ve been waiting forever. The muckety mucks were beginning to get anxious.”
“What are you doing here?” Tate asked, looking over his shoulder to find Roslyn and Ryu slowly making their way over to them.
“That’s a good question. I’d really like to know that myself,” Dewdrop said, glaring at Ryu.
Tate lifted her eyebrows at the dragon, who offered her an enigmatic look.
“The emperor requested your presence. It was only appropriate to summon a member of your retinue until you could attend,” Ryu explained in a bland voice.
“Is that so?”
Roslyn’s gaze flitted between the two, picking up on the undercurrent. She stepped forward. “The Lord Ryuji is correct. When a noble is delayed in their duties, it’s acceptable to send a representative until such time as you can be present.”
“That doesn’t explain why you’re here,” George said.
Roslyn squared her shoulders, meeting George’s hostility with a calm gaze. “I was with the Duke of Spiritly when he got the news.”
Tate perked up in interest, glancing in the Duke’s direction. Did that mean Roslyn had been successful in relaying her request? One could only hope.
Roslyn’s serene poise was admirable as she met George’s stare with a confident one of her own. “Since I’ve often been called to provide advice to Lady Fisher, he felt it only necessary for my presence as well.”
George’s lip curled. “You were always good at involving yourself in situations that had nothing to do with you.”
For the second time that night, George brushed past Roslyn like she was nothing but trash on the street. Roslyn held herself rigid, her expression unnaturally calm as she pretended that George’s behavior wouldn’t affect her or her emotions. As if it wouldn’t send pain stabbing at her heart.
“Someone is a tad grumpy,” Dewdrop remarked, breaking the silence that had fallen.
“Did you know the dragon slayer has never actually killed a dragon before?” Tate asked, apropos of nothing.
Dewdrop’s eyebrows shot up as ridicule flashed across his face. “What sort of misleading title is that? It’s like calling someone a master thief when they’ve never stolen so much as a piece of paper.”
See—Tate wasn’t the only one who thought it was ridiculous.
George’s shoulders stiffened, having heard their conversation. Not surprising since neither of them had lowered their voices.
Admittedly, it probably wasn’t the smartest idea angering the woman who carried a weapon capable of ending her, but seeing Roslyn’s brittle expression fade at their banter made it worthwhile.
Leaving the subject of George alone, Tate pinned Ryu with a hard glance, making sure to keep her voice low enough so only the four of them could hear. “Now, what’s this about?”
She understood Ryu’s hesitance to reveal anything while George was standing within earshot. Even if the woman had never killed a dragon before it didn’t mean she didn’t have the potential to do so.
Now, however, was the time to come clean. Starting with why he’d appointed Dewdrop the role of hostage.
That’s how the situation read to Tate anyway. Kind of an, ‘Oh, you don’t want to report to duty? I’ve got your nearest and dearest. How about now?’
“There’s been an incident involving something related to the dragon-ridden.”
Tate hesitated for a beat, knowing he was trying to tell her something but not entirely understanding what. “Should I be worried?”
Ryu appeared to consider her question, something that didn’t fill her with warm fuzzies. He was so confident in his own infallibility that it bordered on arrogance. Nothing ever seemed to faze him, yet worry crouched in the back of his eyes.
Something about this situation unsettled him. Tate needed to find out why and, if possible, address it.
Ryu finally shook his head the barest bit. “No, but be on your guard anyways.”
“Always.”
That went without saying.
At her response, Dewdrop huffed and crossed his arms over his chest as if to call into question the truthfulness of her words.
Noticing something, Tate squinted at him. Now that she thought about it, she realized he wasn’t wearing the same clothes he’d worn to attend court. Instead, he wore a faded black coat draped over a shirt two sizes too big for him and a pair of striped pants.
They looked an awful lot like the pajama bottoms Dewdrop favored.
Noticing her stare, a defensive expression crossed Dewdrop’s face. “I was in a hurry. The prickly dragon slayer and her hulking partner didn’t give me a lot of time to dress.”
By that, Tate took it to mean Ryu wasn’t the one who’d insisted on Dewdrop’s presence but rather George. If that was the case, Tate regretted not taking the time to truly mess with the woman while she could. The irritation Tate had treated her to was only a tenth of what she could muster when she put her mind to it.
“I didn’t ask,” Tate said, sending a speculative glance in George’s direction.
“I could hear you thinking it.”
“Ah, but thinking is not asking.”
Dewdrop sent her a dour look.
This time Tate couldn’t quite contain her smirk. “What about Daisy and the others?”
“They’re protected. Blaise or Jacob will be with them at all times.” Dewdrop glared at George. “No thanks to her.”
“What do you mean?”
“She tried to insist on their attendance,” Ryu said. “I managed to convince her only our presence was necessary.”
Tate narrowed her eyes at the dragon slayer. “I’m beginning to dislike this woman.”
“Only beginning?” Dewdrop asked. “I’ve been there since she interrupted our game with the children.”
Tate sent him a quelling look. Dewdrop lifted both hands as if to ask ‘what?’. Tate supposed she had only herself to blame for his sarcasm. She’d pretty much opened the door with her comment.
“George has had a difficult life,” Roslyn said. “She can often come across in ways she doesn’t intend.”
“We’ve all had difficult lives.” Dewdrop pointed at himself. “I’m a former street urchin who had to pick pockets to survive.” The finger swung Tate’s way. “She slept for centuries, lost all her memories and was then conscripted into a pirate’s crew.” Dewdrop pointed at Ryu and hesitated before switching his focus to Roslyn. “You left your family and social position when they violated your own code of honor. None of that is an excuse to act like an asshole.”
Tate patted Dewdrop on the head. “Alright, we get your point. Enough of that.”
He didn’t try to brush off her hand, instead folding his arms and glaring sulkily at where George waited impatiently.
Tate didn’t really blame Dewdrop for his words. That outpouring had been building for a while. Not just on his part either. As explosions went, it was somewhat lackluster. He’d held back, which was probably for the best given they were surrounded by the Lord Provost, the Duke of Spiritly, and half a dozen of the emperor’s guards. Not
to mention the dragon slayer who was only a slayer in name.
“It was good to see you working with your father earlier,” Tate told Roslyn quietly.
They glanced in his direction. The presence of his relic buzzed in the corner of Tate’s mind like an overeager puppy craving attention.
A pair of sharp eyes met Tate’s when she glanced his way. She didn’t detect any hostility. None of the anger she’d expect from a man who might blame her for his daughter’s defection. It was more that he was watchful. A patient hunter determining how much of a threat she was.
Their study of each other only lasted seconds before he looked away, saying something to the Lord Provost at his side.
“It was a surprise to me too,” Roslyn said, her eyes lingering on her father. “I didn’t think we’d ever work together like that again.”
Tate stayed silent, understanding a bit of what Roslyn felt. There’d been yearning in her voice. She missed her father. No matter his faults, he’d raised Roslyn with all the love at his disposal.
Some might say he loved her too much. To the point he couldn’t even allow her to fail on her own terms. That inability to accept her as is had led to their current rift.
Only time would tell if they could heal their wounds.
George turned toward them. “How much longer are you going to make the emperor wait?”
“What emperor? I don’t see one, do you?” Dewdrop groused but started down the stairs toward the rest. “How did you grow up with someone like that?”
“George has always been a bit rigid in her views. It helps that I rarely had to deal with her outside of formal functions.” Roslyn descended as Tate and Ryu brought up the rear.
“Is there anything else I should know?” Tate asked in a low voice.
She thought of a reason she would be summoned to a place like this, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. If she recalled correctly, there had been two blazes earlier that night. One—in the palace wing where court was held.
The second a short distance from the palace.
According to Tate’s memory, the origin of that pillar of fire was very close to their current location.