Talon the Black

by Melissa Mitchell

  Tess glared at him. “You are full of requests today, my Lord Reyr.” She looked as though she might protest. Tess might as well have been a noblewoman, for she received the same respect. Everyone within the keep knew not to cross her. At last Tess turned and assembled a generous portion of cold pork, buns, cheese, and honey. “There now. Off with you.”

  “You are too good to me, Tess.” As he took the tray, he kissed each of her fleshy cheeks affectionately then departed.

  He found Desaree and informed her of his intentions. Together, they departed for Claire’s apartments. “She has been begging to see you,” he explained. “I disallowed it yesterday, but I believe she would be glad to have your company today.”

  “Indeed, I had hoped to see her, Lord Reyr, but I knew not where to find her.” There was hope in Desaree’s gaze. “You know, I found her room empty yesterday evening, emptied of all belongings. Lord Verath said she would be fine, but I still worried she was taken away. Taken...”

  “Lord Verath came to see you, did he?” His question left her skin a deep shade of red. “Come now, you need not fret. And yes, Claire is fine. A little shaken up I imagine. But I will let her tell you what happened.” After that, they both fell silent.

  He stopped before Claire’s door and offered the tray to Desaree. After muttering words of magic, he lifted its guard. Then he procured a key from his pocket and unlocked the knob. “We had better knock first,” he said, offering a sidelong glance to Desaree before lifting his fist. Then he took back the tray.

  Claire greeted them moments later. Her eyes fell upon him first, and then Desaree. She rushed into the hall and gave the serving woman a long hug. “Oh Des! I was so worried!”

  Affording them space, he went to her dining table and deposited the tray. Then he collected the one from that morning. Claire was just entering with Desaree, pulling the woman into the room. “I have so much to tell you,” she said. Desaree’s eyes were wide as her gaze circled Claire’s new accommodations.

  He cleared his throat, not minding in the slightest that they ignored him. “I have brought you a midday meal. I will leave the two of you alone. Remember, Claire, do not leave this room until the king has removed the restriction.”

  “You’re not going to stay and eat with us?”

  “No, not today. This afternoon’s court begins shortly.”

  “Can’t you skip today?” she asked. It was a half-hearted request. Clearly she wanted Desaree’s company to herself.

  “Not today.” He turned and left, closing the door behind him. The sounds of their giggles followed him down the hall. He couldn’t have stayed even had he wanted to. This afternoon was important, for an announcement was to be made to the public. Claire’s circumstances were about to formally change, and the king would need all the support his voice could offer.

  60

  Kastali Dun

  Talon drummed his fingertips impatiently upon the armrest of Dragonwall’s throne. Its white marble was smooth under his skin, its finish glossy as the day he took up rule. The throne was the pinnacle of the Great Keep. Dragonwall’s kings would come and go, but the throne would never change. This was not the case for current circumstances.

  Cyrus’s Gift changed everything. There would be no petitions in court today. Remnants of the steward’s announcement echoed in his ears. “By King Talon’s decree, the outsider known as Claire Evans, who has demonstrated unquestionable magical abilities, is to become his royal ward.”

  Lord Layton Raffe jumped to his feet when he heard the news. “Magic, you say? Bah! I oppose this decree!” Raffe had always opposed Claire. Even now the lingering artifacts from the traitors Raffe had blindly followed, seeds planted by Euen Doyle and Stefan Rosen, took root. Though these traitors’ heads rested on spikes, Lord Raffe continued to display obvious distaste.

  “Lord Raffe, the topic is not yet open for discussion!” said the steward, sputtering. “You are speaking out of turn—”

  “Out of turn?” Lord Raffe cut in, raising his voice, “There is no discussion! I’ll not have it! Not while I sit upon the Council.”

  “Silence him, Reyr.”

  Reyr stood and calmly faced the lord. His expression was stony. “Lord Raffe. The steward has not yet opened the discussion. You are indeed out of turn. If you cannot uphold court rules, you are welcome to step down from the Council. In case you have forgotten, two positions are open. Why not make it three?”

  Lord Raffe turned a deep shade of purple. Reyr’s point was taken. Raffe sat back down in a huff. Reyr turned to the other council members. “Any further protests?” No one dared challenge the Shield. “Good,” said Reyr. He held his hand forward, gesturing that the steward should continue.

  The steward nodded. “As the king’s ward, Lady Claire will undergo magical training by the Magoi. Likewise, she will assimilate into our way of life. She will no longer be an outsider, but a citizen of Dragonwall.” With that, he rolled up his scroll. The hall was deathly silent.

  The steward gave everyone time to comprehend the full meaning. His pause stretched onward before he said, “Lords and ladies, the floor is now open for discussion. Those wishing to voice concerns may bring forth constructive arguments.” Here the steward glared at Lord Raffe. “Once all voices have been heard, the king will make his final decision.”

  Lord Ashton Wyndham was the first. He stood, politely waiting for the steward’s permission to speak. Once given, he presented his argument. “I would like to argue against this decree, Your Majesty.”

  How unsurprising, thought King Talon. Lord Wyndham hated change.

  “I have not seen the evidence of Claire’s magic. Have any of you?” Playing on his audience’s interest, he looked in turn at many of them. They afforded him the courtesy of shaking their heads. Pleased, he nodded. “I thought not. Your Majesty, rumors spurred by yesterday’s events of a fight between the serving girl named Claire and our very own Lady Caterina are mere embellishments.”

  He considered Lord Wyndham’s argument before turning to face him. He did not rise. “Thank you for your dignified argument, Lord Wyndham. While rumors can easily be misconstrued, I am confident that magic was indeed performed.”

  The lord swallowed. “Forgive me, Your Majesty, but did you see her perform magic? With your own eyes? Did your Shields? No lord or lady I know, aside from Lady Caterina, can lay claim to such.” He paused briefly. “The servants gathered in the corridors…well…we know how servants like to talk.” A number of hearty chuckles followed his comment.

  He chose to ignore the jab directed at the servants’ pastime. “No, Lord Wyndham. I did not see any magic. Your point is taken. However, it was Lord Reyr who ought to speak on the matter, for he arrived shortly after it happened.” He diverted the discussion.

  Reyr stood. “I did not see Claire perform any magic, Lord Wyndham, for I arrived too late. Regardless of this, we have unequivocal evidence. Claire is indeed in possession of magic, though untrained.”

  “Very well.” Lord Wyndham took his seat. He was smart to keep further doubt to himself.

  Thereafter, other council members presented their arguments of disagreement. “Claire was an outsider, how could she possibly deserve an elevated position?” That was merely their jealousy speaking. “Claire was ignorant of Dragonwall’s ways, how could she honor such a position?” Ignorance could be corrected. “Claire was out of control, look how she reacted when provoked?” Magical control could be learned. Each argument received a just explanation. He found himself growing bored. Thoughts of flying began to preoccupy him.

  When Lord Glover stood, he braced himself, and all daydreams of flying faded away. This lord often riled him. “Your Majesty, I have heard every argument and my stance remains unchanged. You argue that Claire has the makings of a Mage. Mere hearsay will not do! I demand solid proof—”

  “You wish me to bring her here? You wish me to force her to perform for you, Lord Glover? Is it a show you seek?” He’d not forgotten their previous quarrel
over Lord Glover’s ungrateful wife.

  Lord Glover was embarrassed. His face darkened. “Not necessarily, Your Majesty. If Claire indeed possesses these abilities, perhaps someone of magical expertise ought to attest to your claim?”

  “Aye!” came a few echoes of agreement.

  “Of course. How could your king’s word be enough?” His gaze narrowed. There were a number of things he was about to say to this spiteful human.

  “I can attest to her abilities.” A pure feminine voice silenced the room. He clenched his jaw shut. Lady Saffra, who for some reason was not sitting with her fellow council members, pushed her way to the front of the hall. She was disguised beneath the hood of a cloak, which she removed as she came forward. Realization of her identity swept the room. Grand Mage Marcel followed after.

  “Steward,” Saffra looked to the steward. “May I speak?”

  “Of course, Lady Saffra.”

  She gave the man a nod of thanks. “I have seen Claire’s magical abilities in my visions. Perhaps that may not be enough for you, Lord Glover, but my visions have proved true in the past. Remember the Gobelin Wars? Besides that, I think most here will agree that I possess significant magical expertise. I am, after all, the king’s royal prophetess.”

  Now things were becoming interesting. “What magic have you seen in your visions, Lady Saffra?” He sat forward a measure, waiting for her answer. Brief surprise showed in her eyes. Perhaps she did not expect his direct question. She squared her shoulders, lifting her chin high to address him.

  “In my visions, Your Majesty, I have seen Claire use magic to defeat our enemies.” Before Saffra’s words sank in, she turned to the audience. “In my visions, Claire uses advanced magic far beyond the abilities of most Magoi. If that is not reason enough to earn your trust, then you are all lost.” Profound silence greeted her words. No one knew what to make of this news, not even he. Without another word, Saffra lifted her hood and turned, melting into the crowd.

  At last, the steward snapped out of his surprise and cleared his throat. “Grand Mage Marcel, have you anything further to add?”

  Marcel looked just as shocked. “I do indeed, Steward.” Marcel took two steps forward. “I merely wish to say that, in my expert opinion Lord Glover, Claire possesses extensive magical potential.” Grand Mage Marcel knew all about the Gift, but only since yesterday.

  At last Lord Glover was resigned to sit. The steward thanked Marcel and sent him away. One last opportunity was given for arguments, but it seemed everyone was scared. Saffra’s words hit their mark as surely as her arrows did. “Very well,” said the steward. “Your Grace, the time has come for your decision. Do you stand by your decree?”

  He sat forward. “I do.”

  “Then it is final.” The steward looked over to the chronicler and nodded. The hunched little man scribbled something upon his parchment. Court was dismissed. Those in attendance scattered, retreating from the vast hall. He alone remained seated, deep in thought.

  “Do you think it is true?” Reyr asked, climbing the steps of the dais. “Claire will defeat our enemies with magic?”

  “I hardly know.”

  “If it is,” Verath said, “Claire has suddenly become a valuable weapon.”

  “That would seem so.” His brow furrowed.

  “Shall I go and inform Claire of the outcome?” Reyr asked, lifting an eyebrow to inquire.

  He almost nodded then thought better of it. “No. I should be the one.” He rose and descended the steps, leaving the hall. Despite the hall’s size, he felt smothered. The openness of the corridors did not help either. The closer he came to Claire’s chambers, the slower his footfalls became.

  When he arrived at her accommodations, he heard voices, laughter, coming from within. His jaw was clenched tight when he knocked. Before waiting for permission, he opened it. Claire was sitting beside the serving girl Desaree. Their faces were alight with mirth. He paused briefly, taken aback by her happiness. The moment she laid eyes on him however, the smile slid from her face. Had he expected anything else?

  Desaree jumped to her feet. “Your Majesty!” She then fell to one knee.

  “Please stand, Desaree.” Desaree followed orders before glancing at the open door behind him, as if she were desperate to escape his presence. “Yes, yes. You may go.” Desaree scurried away like a frightened chipmunk. He was used to it, for he had that effect on most. His scars unnerved even him sometimes.

  He shut the door and took a seat across the table from Claire. She gazed at him defensively, like someone ready to argue, despite the lack of any accusation. After the silence stretched on, her eyebrows pulled together. He watched her, hoping to spur intimidation. He failed, for his tactics worked against him, creating the same unease within him that he had hoped to deliver to Claire.

  He tapped his fingertips against his knee before speaking. “It may please you to know, the Court has been informed of my decision to elevate your status. I am removing the ban I have placed upon you. You may roam the keep as you wish.” Gods! He sounded ridiculous fumbling for words. Gritting his teeth, he pulled his shoulders back until he sat rigid.

  Claire remained silent.

  “From this day forth you are officially my ward—my responsibility. I expect you to behave appropriately as I have said before. The time has come for you to acclimatize into society. Reyr will see to the matter of your attire.” Her kirtle was stained in several places. The nobles loved gossip nearly as much as the servants. He wouldn’t have it said that he took poor care of her. But that wasn’t truly why he cared for her appearance. The real reason was, he wanted to prove everyone wrong. Claire would be worth their time and their respect.

  Claire said nothing as she continued to pierce him with her gaze. It was unnerving. He changed tactics. “Saffra came to your aid today. You ought to thank her next time you see her.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together. “Saffra?” There. That was better than nothing. She was giving him very little to work with.

  “Indeed. She presented an interesting theory. She has seen you aid us in battle. She has seen you defeat our enemies.”

  This time, Claire’s eyes widened. “She told you about that? She told the court?”

  “You knew?” Nothing irritated him more than hearing late news.

  “Of course I knew, Talon. The vision was about me, not you.”

  “You will address me as, Your Majesty, Your Grace, or King Talon. I understand that our society is different than yours, but if you are to blend in, then you must learn some propriety.”

  Her cheeks reddened with anger. She was about to protest. He almost wanted her to. But instead, she pursed her lips. Afterward, her eyes glittered fiercely. Perhaps her hatred was better than anything else. He was used to being hated. That was an emotion he better understood, just as well as fear and dislike.

  “Tell me, did you know of Lady Saffra’s vision before or after your little magical display?”

  “Before. Obviously. I’ve been locked up since.”

  “Had you come to me, or even Reyr, we might have avoided yesterday’s fiasco.”

  Claire’s laugh was sarcastic. “Right. Come to you. Forgive me, Your Grace, but you’re delusional. After everything, you expect me to trust you?” Her eyes narrowed. “Trust can only be earned. I’m sure you know that.”

  Gods! How she had a way of getting under his skin. “You hate me. I understand that. Very well. Go on hating me. But if we are going to outpace Kane, and whatever enemies it is that you are supposed to defeat, we must cooperate.”

  At the mention of Kane, her chest deflated. The hate left her eyes. Her face grew blank. She looked the same way all Drengr looked when communicating with each other telepathically. Then she spoke. “Cyrus said you’re right, and that I ought to be more respectful. You’re just trying to do your job.”

  His heart tightened. The mention of Cyrus chased his anger away. “He talks to you?” A flood of desire washed over him, followed by jealousy. She had a
n ability to speak to Cyrus, or at least the memory of Cyrus, when he so desperately wanted to.

  Claire shrugged. “He talks to me sometimes, like when he doesn’t think I’m behaving appropriately, or if he wants to offer advice. Other times he’s just my biggest cheerleader.”

  “Cheerleader?”

  “Yes, cheerleader. You know…oh, never mind.” She slumped back against her chair.

  “And do you agree with Cyrus?” He gazed at her intently.

  “I suppose. We can’t save Dragonwall if we’re fighting each other. But that doesn’t mean I have to like you.” Her words left him gritting his teeth. “I’ll cooperate as best as I can—I suppose—as long as you don’t keep acting like a complete and total ass.”

  “A donkey?”

  “Ugh!” She threw up her arms in obvious annoyance. “This is ridiculous! An ass. A jerk. A horrid person. A ballbag. However you want to interpret it.”

  He wasn’t aware that his mouth hung open until he tried to speak. Then he thought better of speaking at all. She hated him enough as it was. He inhaled to smother his reproach.

  “Do we have a deal?” she asked, crossing her arms and narrowing her gaze.

  “Fine. Deal.” Desperate to escape, he rose and left without another word. He could hardly stand another moment in the same room. When he reached his tower, his skin was flushed and his irritation soaring. Who did Claire think she was? He had given her an elevated position. Suddenly she was in the saddle?

  He growled in frustration, going immediately to his balcony. He threw open the doors and shed his skin the way one discarded clothing. The dragon within him was itching to break free, clawing at him with sharp talons. He let it.

  Leaping from the balcony, his massive wings spread to catch the air current. Today he would head north. He would leave the city behind in favor of Eigaden’s plains. He flew out over the sea before angling his left wing downward. His body swept around towards the keep. A glint of gold caught his eye. He descended. Claire stood out on her balcony gazing up at him, her hair waving in the breeze.